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Long ago, on misty isles

A rich bloodline and culture

Was wreaked

Was split from itself

Wrought on the anvil of time

Their nations cataclysm

Their clan's slavery and death

They praise on high each passing day

Their wake with empty cups

Gaul has fallen

And now the Ire

Blight

Once fertile fields

Now barren moors

Christian brambles consuming heathen fields

Their past returns to them

Gaul, taken again

Gaul, taken again

Gaul, taken again

Our Ouroboros (From seeds of ash we grow)

Our Ouroboros (From seeds of ash we grow)

After years the storm had calmed

And they warred against themselves

Orange or green their horrid cause

When in truth, it should be white

To this day they hold on high

The man who killed their people

Cast away their druid mothers

Cast away their soldier fathers

And with his fell, ash-wood staff

Piercing their ancient land

Took root, desecrated

He brought serpents of his own

He cast the land to endless night

He damned our souls with prayers

To the oceans our kin sailed

They found slavery and death

Gaul has fallen

And now the Ire

Blight

Once fertile fields

Now barren moors

Christian brambles consuming heathen fields

Their past returns to them

Gaul, taken again

Gaul, taken again

Gaul, taken again

Our Ouroboros (From seeds of ash we grow)

Our Ouroboros (From seeds of ash we grow)

Taken again

Our Ouroboros (From seeds of ash we grow)

Taken again

Our Ouroboros (From seeds of ash we grow)