[bad word] Celtic power
from the cape of Cornwall
Cry of hope, angels cry
This was omen, our sign, prediction

In this proud land I grew up strong,
My tears are flowing all around
The wind is twisting my sorrow

Distant gate, gothic grave
Through ages our clan still remain
 [bad word] Celtic power
from the cape of Cornwall
Cry of hope, angels cry
This was omen, our sign, prediction

All through my life I have carried our ring,
The omen
All this was the fragment from my life

In this proud land I was born alone
I was taught to fight, taught to win

They told me the way of steel and secret
I am the unburied child, child without a nam,
Without fate,
I fight for peace and love,
I am reborn