1. The Heretics Age

Soiled hands of work, to pit a Nations Fall
Skeletal hands upon the coffers of the Old World
Ghosts of Men, re-writing history
Red ink, from the well of Martyrdrom

Words to drip from the Traitors Tongues
Waging a War between the Crimson lines
The Old Heart of the Earth
Divided, poisoned, ready for the fall

Valiant Men, made to wear the Devils Mask
The Scapegoats for a New Age
Such words will bear the Fruit of Flesh
(Today's Innocence),
Tomorrows Finger on the Trigger

So, who Heralds the Grace of Fallen Empires?
Hymns to the Ruination of Majesty
He who inherits the Dark Crown of ill will
The Scorn of those deemed Righteous Men

The Gauntlet thrown, The Baton tossed
By Statute, by Law, by Divine Decree
Impositions as Kindling to the fire
The Old Heart is beating, with Ancient Blood

"A history passed through generations, through the ravages of time and
falsity of spirit, blood remains and the circle remains unbroken, the answer
to the future lays in the not too distant and dim past, and as we lay waste
to the naysayers and cut the traitors tongues from their very mouths of
spectre of history shall loom from the past enriched with the Blood of our
Ancestors to pass judgement..."

перевод: "Еретический век" (Ganconer) »

2. Fallen To Ruin

Brother, what tidings doth thou bring?
Can't you hear Dread Words from Traitors Tongues
Sister, Few Honours are left standing Proud
In this world
They have made the soil ever barren
Our Legends but Shadows, Idle and Fallen to Ruin

My Haert, Knows Flasehood Prevails
In this, the Long Winter of the Spirit
We have Bron Witness to False Judgement
Yet against all this
I carry the Fight, Beyond the Ages
The Wolves shall echo my rallying Cry

An Oath, Sworn of Ancient Blood
Haunting the Usurpers through plague (and Pestilence)
Through Tempest, across the Raging Seas
(my rage) as a Bolt of Lightning
Within a clenched Fist...seeking Retribution

Know
That when there is Nothying left in this world
I will come for you
No Ideal not Scarred and Worn
No hope not Shattered and Torn
I will come for you

"The old heart of the earth calls it's Children, Children of Destitution and
Pain, Bloodied yet unbowed. We are Order in the eye of chaos, the Gods to
the Godless..."

перевод: "Крушение" (Ganconer) »

3. Cast To The Pyre

"Nothing seems to make sense, I'm tired of it all, I've stopped searching
for meanings...there are none. Time heals nothing, all it does is make you
more bitter, more twisted yet sucks the life out of you...leaving you too
apathetic to seek revenge. Revenge on a society that has lied to you since
the day you were born. Only humanity would fill it's days with so much
fucking misery to prove to itself that it must be worth something. To
who?...to who are you worth something? Who would ever fucking miss you...who
will miss you when you are dead? I will tell you...no
one..."

It's time to cast out of net
To call in all the old debts
To stumble over all the harsh words
And heal all the wounds
To steal every glance
Every darkened romance
And cast it to the pyre

To rewrite the words, feign the phrases
To finally finish those unwritten pages
If I even closed the chapter on you
I'm sorry, I never knew what else to do
It's last call and the hour is late
Time for the lasr nail in the coffin
Then cast me to the fire...

"People, places, passages in time, seizing the moment even though the slow
burning pain may consume you..."

перевод: "Брошенный в погребальный костер" (Ganconer) »

4. Suns First Rays

(Instrumental)

"The first rays of a Glorious Dawn, the warmth upon your face...the
sensation that the land is awakening..."

перевод: "Первые лучи солнца" (Ganconer) »

5. What Sleeps Within

My Faith is written in my blood
And my gods within my Image
I stand within the Sun unblinking
And Rise within it's Rays

It is not enough to kindle the Fire
One must be the Fire
It is not enough to Face Tomorrow
When there is Time enough Today

So long this savage beast has been
Slumbered (too long)
Shackled and bound no longer
For I am both Sacrifice and Solution

Has the world made you?
Have you made the world?
There are strange times I ask you...
Generations of Messiahs
As Grist to the Mill

All with the world to sell
And a world to win
Yet looking no further
Then yeasterday Dictator
Or yesterdays Traitor

"Our rage insurmountable, out thirst and desire unquenchable, about seizing
the day, the moment, the very fire behind the eyes, within the veins, to
conquer sterility, stagnation, burn away the veils of falsehood. A natural
equilibrium is restored..."

перевод: "Что спит внутри" (Ganconer) »

6. Sons Of The Morrigan

Shone the sunset red and solemn
Where we stood and observed
Down the corners of the column
Letter strokes of Ogham carved
'tis belike a burial pillar
Said he and those shallow lines
Hold some warriors name of valour
And will rightly show the signs

No one saw, how far I fell
And no one ever knew
That thre was a heart of flesh
Deep within me
As it was, bled of the twisted horn
And the howling of the dogs
Raise on old Heroes lament
While the weeping of women
Still vexes my heart

If this is my Journey End
Then cast me to the pyre
And if all that remains
Is a blackened heart
And the stench of death
Then know my spell is cast
And sing my song
With pride once more

"Verse one and two are inspired by the old Irish poem "The Recovery of the
Tain", ogham is the old Irish way of writing and tells the tale of a Warrior
near the end of life, Raising the Spirit of Battle once more, reacvhing back
through his life...through the blood and pain the releasing himself to the
Gods...the message is simple...that your deeds in life be recounted and
relived in both name and song..."

перевод: "Сыны Морриган" (Ganconer) »

7. The Hosting Of The Sidhe

William Butler Yeats

The host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the graves of Clooth-na-bare;
Caolte tossing his burning hair
And Niamh calling away, come away:
Empty your heart if it's mortal dream,
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam,
Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the hope of his heart
We come between him and the hope of his heart
The host is rushing 'twixt night and day,
And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caolte tossing his burning hair
And Niamh calling away, come away.

Dedicated to William Butler Yeats, one of Eire's greatest sons

перевод: (Ganconer) »