Guess who? You bitches it's RiRi (Lam) Lamborghini strawberry, kiwi Fashion week in Paris was nice Every designer had my size (Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
lip and the head yeah, the anglo-saxons yeah, the anglo-saxons a sub-literate bunch of guys, though some sources say otherwise. yeah, the anglo-saxons
Of the ancestors shunning the missionaries, and that same spirit in us today. I feel through the ancient sunsets I breathe in the wind and the trees
In drinking spirits, the ancestors sing many songs, of which this is one.... This is a story of what we often call warriors Where I've gone now I have
The hall is ready with ale, mead And music, and the hearth is glowing On the faces of those who attend. Solemnly, a man speaks of his ancestor, Connecting
Screech the ghouls of deepest wynter The wolves howl as I prowl the perimetre Cursed with Negative maegen wounds We search our servile souls. Tears
A rant of shamanic fury Lord of the hanged You present with many faces Inciting strife, bezerker rage In the valleys of starlight Forged maegen sculpts
Of an experience in a heathen wood. A line of fire Flickers on mist enshrouding knees Hooded carriers of torches file Through the dark and twisted trees
A song of heathen defiance and a redefinition of faith. Take a new look at god In the dust it's the wrong way round Speak the place names and days Let
After a short piece of music, a story is told of runes and the magic of Wyrd. Gifts are exchanged to fortify old bonds. It hailed so fast We could not
[I A Fire Burns In Readiment In The Solemn Hall] [II A Chant To Woden] [III The Voices Of Battle Are Summoned - It Is Time To Push Forward...]
How long must I stay How long must I go on Taking my chances on burning away Don't take away my daylight Don't take away my dream Why must I go (*)
I was listening to the music on the radio (*) I had a feeling that something's not right The music was loud, we could still hear the crowd From the gig
Down on main street the scene was set They check out the fuel turn the radio on Open the gates, assemble the gun Wait at the red, for the president's
Sixth form can't get out at night (*) They keep them in, it's an awful sin Should set them free and let them roam The lights inside their dormitory
[Byford/Quinn/Oliver/Dawson/Gill] We got a 747 coming down in the night There's a 747 goin' into the night There's no power, there's no runway lights
[Byford/Quinn/Scarratt/Carter] Dark clouds gather in the east Calm before the storm The devil sends his messenger Hurricane is born Lightning cracks
[Written By : Byford/Quinn/Oliver/Dawson/Gill] If there's one thing I love It's flying there above Breaking through the barrier of sound It's just like
