Conqueror by Himinbjorg
On each summer solstice we weave the great iron tie
Between the past, the present, the future of our tribe
The older tell us the wars from the past
In the embered shining of the flames
And we listen to their words like the young wolves of a
pack
Nothing is more personal, now than the songs,
Whispered by the spirits of our ancestors.
What can a few souls which burn in the mighty sun of
the solstice
Against the despair that our modern world raises in our
hearts?
But testify of what used to be, to be actual, to
emphasize on our traditions
To ensure that future is maybe not condemned...
Communion in the shining light of our fires and in the
recovered sun
Symphony of our pagan souls with mother earth
Presence of the culture of European nations
Living in osmosis with the eternal cycles of life
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