My skin is cold and the birds fly free

Over my head, where winter grows

A heathen's call, stand up or fall

This world is yours, for you to rule



This, the blood of sin

Flows freely

The unstoppable force

In the naked flesh

My skin is cold – your skin is cold



Black metal rock and a scent of leather

And bloodstained gold

I go with you, on the path we make



Snow covered mountain

I gaze in awe

Wondering who and what was here before

I made my mark on that sacred soil

This phoenix rose from a pit of pain



One nation's man carrying the weight,

Of a people's disgrace

This is the turnaround!

Driven by birthright and godsent will