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The wind´s getting colder

and the ice is rehearsing it´s score

as the winter of the ages will die down,

will be burnt by our ancient hate

Tendrils of sweet silence

will creep through the vastness of time

bringing glory upon this ground

as the moonwinds blow away our forced disgrace

In a cold, cold night we´ll arise,

among our followers pure souls of blasphemy

On fiery stallions we storm through the dark

in mighty host

Their fear is our arm and our pay

Lead by the northwinds,

high from the heights to the valley we came

to bring you a stormy lullaby!

On and on, from the mountains of scorn we scheme

On and on, Franconia will be redeemed

Riders of doom,

awaiting the sign of the moon

Riders of gold,

bring back the quiet and the cold!

Up from the ashes, from the dragon´s underground nest

we will rise from inside of our black wrap,

of bewitching Iron Hill

where crystal waters ´re runnin´ down the emerald walls

On chariots of fire we´ll salute the new era of northern dark

(dedicated to old Manowar, Bathory, Marduk and my good ol´ friend Megalomania...)