Testo A White Horse

The sword, held over water, bright in the moonlight glisten
The word, comes from the river gods as they coldly whisper

The land, red with the lifeblood of every war and conquest
We stand and offer our arms up, our sun is setting in the West

Our blood is a river, running to the sea
The moon is the mother, man is the cruel beast
And is the banner held by steady hand and even
Among the elder ones the stories echo still
And shall we hear the tale of lions beat by ravens
Strong timber under sail and iron on the sea