[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:]