The mist carried tidings of fire and blood: On northern waves the dragons ride Heaven shall mourn what darkness will scorn On the day when prayers die The omens spoke of a rising beast That sailed out from the eastern shores Brethren will cry and angels will sigh On the day of the fiendish force
Aaaah, the priory burned Aaaah, aflame and ablaze
The heathen horde struck from the sea Like a cut from a tempered blade In black the day was hung by the foreign Dragon's tongue On the day of the sinister raid A plundered parish by a pagan plague Perished under the autumn clouds Their embers went cold as fate did unfold And wrapped them in a solacing shroud
