Tears Will Wash off the Blood from My Sword - Tvangeste

The wind blended the smoke of fires with the breath of the swamp

The deadly embrace grips us in its iron claws

No way out, but we will face the death

The sword or bog is better then the enemy’s scaffold

Yes, we entreated, but gods did not heed our prayers

The hatred tightens round your neck harder than the noose

The crusaders stamp across our native lands

The Steel craves for the battlefield

Our hands shake with trepidation yet resolved to fight

We know we cannot save our land

We know that today we will join our ancestors

No grumble, we are not appealing to gods anymore

Our earthly paths seem to be gone through

The enemies' camps are promising loss with their fires

The blood is getting cold in veins from the enemies horses' neighing

Close is the moment…