At the court of king Chaos only blood
can write its own tragedy...'

march, all led by golden winds
Mighty warriors from the silver hills
Elves and trolls from holy mystic woods [bad word] through the last snow
Glory, pride and honor ride with him

handling proud his magic sword

He's [bad word] from the middle lands
Burns the flame of north
They will all meet in the [bad word] 
In the temple of the fallen one
not so far from Ancelot

their hope will be born...
Born from the asches of ancient glory... Born!

They all hail the mighty chosen one

reaching the skies with their cry
They are ready to reach Ancelot

Arwald's calling loud...
Magic and steelgods lead us to a new dawn'Glory ride with us! Lux triumphans!