The Siege Of Badon Hill

In the nights black heart
and storms of winter.
We ride to Badbury rings,
to fight or die

with blood etched on our blades
and the pain of "spears"
under dragons billowing wings
to fight or die

The ancient tribes are as one
The Ancient Tribes are as one
The ancient tribes are as one
The Ancient Tribes are as one

With the hornbearers call and the sound of ripping mail
the gods give us the joy to kill and kill again
this vile sweet stench of the battles clodded earth
a dreadful waring gale, of reeking rusted glaive
of mongrel Saxon dead, and bloody faces stained
of broken shield walls and broken mighty oaths
hewed battle shields and shivered ashen spears
and the horror of disgrace that cowards must embrace
is there's for evermore, a curse of their fallen race.

The ancient tribes are as one
The Ancient Tribes are as one
The ancient tribes are as one
The Ancient Tribes are as one
The Ancient Tribes are as one
The Ancient Tribes are as one
The Ancient Tribes are as one
our age has just begun
now let it be done, the will of the gods be done.