[Lyrical magick: Proscriptor & Equitant, Musick: Shaftiel & Equitant]
From an empty house...
In take-flight, the grey hawks verged upon a sunless sky
Wild, whistling winds carried them sorely, and sailed them bristly in the same shady sky.
In take-ground, branded the mark of hall and heave; their martyrs never left
2000 years, 2000 urn-burials, 2000 lies have now been erased.
[Chorus:]
"We`ll kneel towards the foyer with our precious salz!
We`ll sound with horn, clash with wood and cleave with calls!
We`ve whittled the blades of Hallstattian swords!"
In order to see such a legacy, fire burned with a past that turned;
Anvils were forged at an early stage, molded as cats or iarn-leastair.
Ioldanach has spied on this mistery, yet he`s enkindled by the light
With hues of argent lightning and ore of purem the salt grants them mastery and might.
[Chorus:]
"We`ll kneel towards the foyer with our precious salz!
We`ll sound with horn, clash with wood and cleave with calls!
We`ve whittled the blades of Hallstattian swords!"
[Bridge:]
Hallstatt
An Salaan
An Bas
[Troid Warrior:]</i> "I see a battle; I feel the warp-spasm!"
[Ioldanach:]</i> The poised warrior yowls with blood about his belt.
[Troid Warrior:]</i> "Nothing shall draw my eyes away..."
[Ioldanach:]</i> His heart stirs atrociously, now to think.
[Troid Warrior:]</i> "I convey the names to the planes of Destiny!"
[Ioldanach:]</i> The poised warrior seeks an ancient seat foe the Stone.
[Troid Warrior:]</i> "Wild, whistling winds still laugh at my howls!"
[Ioldanach:]</i> These acts of tale-telling dilate him to hate.
Hallstatt
An Salaan
An Bas
[Pre-Avouchment of Parable:]
The young ones of Hallstatt, and the sky
Silver-ilked spears have been whetted
Vast hilts and sheeny torques of gold;
Crafted from vanquished legacies.
Hallstatt
An Salaan
An Bas
[Avouchment of Parable:]
"Spirit of horsemen and spirit of iron age acclaim
The fame for 2000 crypts at Hallstatt!"
[Solo(s): Shaftiel]
To an empty home.
In take-flight, the grey hawks verged upon a sunless sky
Wild, whistling winds carried them sorely, and sailed them
bristly in the same shady sky.
In take-ground, branded the mark of hall and heave; their martyrs never left
2000 years, 2000 urn-burials, 2000 lies have now been erased.
"We`ll kneel towards the foyer with our precious salz!
We`ll sound with horn, clash with wood and cleave with calls!
We`ve whittled the blades of Hallstattian swords!"
