From the dust, assembling form
Lashing out with flint and bone
Matted furs, rotting hides
Withered skin, black pits for eyes
In ancient days we stopped the ice
We crushed the Jhag at gruesome price
Now we must heed the first sword’s call
His wrath is kindled, a doom must fall
Severed from death
We march, we march
Bound to the throne
We march, we march
Cursed by Tellann
We march, we march
Warriors of bone
We march
We cry to the blood-red sun in a voice born of stone and dust
A ritual to bind our race
In vast undeath, our severed fates
The sorcery of shamans old
To ever hunt the lords of cold
We drift within the sands of wrath
The wielders of the fire’s path
An ancient magic
Elderbound, bloodbound, earthbound
Severed from death
We march, we march
Bound to the throne
We march, we march
Cursed by Tellann
We march, we march
Warriors of bone
We march
We cry to the blood-red sun in a voice born of stone and dust
Spell of sorrow
Spell of might
Breath of fire
Endless ice
We cry to the blood-red sun in a voice born of stone and dust
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
Sign in to post the first listener note. Reporting stays open to everyone.