THE LAND OF THE BLACK YEARS
Was I born into a world
That is destined to meet its end?
Where the marauder runs rampant,
And blood has already been spilled, flowing across the snow.
House by house they burst into flames,
Cries of terror, chaos,
Piles of reeking corpses,
And flaxen-haired children in slave carts.
And into the lakes I wish to bury
The bells of the fairest church,
Hidden, they would toll
Funerals by the thousand.
The waters are already veiled in blood,
Curled inward in their suffering.
Snow, agony, and despair—
This is the land of the black years.
Every night the flames are blazing,
And the wailings resound,
As they rape, flay, and butcher,
And hang the violated for all to see.
The clash of axes carries through the wilds,
Breeding hatred in hidden hovels.
When at last I can lay my loved ones to rest,
I cast the seed of hatred to take root.
And iron is gathered by those
Who have witnessed the devil’s deeds before them.
Frozen blood will not thaw in winter,
And the scythe swings in fury across
This land of the black years.
For ages there has been no hope,
It has been trampled beneath brutality.
When the world burns and all is dead,
Then I have found the hell.
And into the lakes I wish to bury
The bells of the burning church,
Hidden, they would toll
Funerals by the thousand.
The waters are already veiled in blood,
Curled inward in their suffering.
Snow, agony, and despair—
This is the land of the black years.