Mythological Cold Towers Fallen Race
Listen to the call of the drums and the march
Of the Hulak army
Behold the promontories of Uros
And its banners, swelling
Like waves from immemorial oceans
They carried weapons that brought disgrace
Listen to the call of the drums and the march
Of the Hulak army
There is a rebirth in the grasslands
Gloomy shades of Bronze frame us
Awakening a frightening destiny
One thousand Suns
Vanish before my eyes
Gods in exile, golden horns
Ice Ages, the resplendency on their faces
Blind revenge, peregrine suns
Buried kingdoms
The impiety of Waika warriors
The erased memory, disappears lifelessly
Where the pride has lived before, now is home
For the nothingness
The vile reigns, fear arises
Black twilight of the ages
Bloody massacre still breathe
Auspicious echoes of archaic skies
Symbols of wisdom in ancient stones
In decrepit graveyards
Banners extend over the glacial wind
The conquering chariots advance
To confront the regalia
The fallen race
Solar flares recreated
Make the flags raise to the sky
Tribal slumber
We shall fall into the deepness of the nigh
To be reborn even stronger
We head for the twilight
Memory and torment
Lost centuries
I hear the last thunder
I wave till my final last breath
Glorious picture
Where the misery takes form
In the heights there is an ocean of tears
A far far call
A pact that is not echoed in the confines
