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We fashion spears, from sacred wood.

All men adorned with finery of war.

Our swords are charged, with holy runes.

We forged the blades, and wrapped the leather grips.

Our shields are carved and bear symbols of the Sun.

The primal weapon, the first tool. He who is the wielder.

The god of stone, the god of wood. He who is the wielder.

To Power! Our faculties awake to manipulate the forms,

and force stone and branch to do our bidding.

To Power! Our consciousness arises,

hands masterly and strong, and grip forever the hammer forged by our fathers.

Our shields are carved and bear symbols of the Sun.

Our swords are charged, with holy runes.

We forged the blades, and wrapped the leather grips.

We fashion spears, from sacred wood.

All men adorned with finery of war.

Our will to power calls us forth and summons us to the battlefield.