Testo di The Pale Host

Beneath these hills there runs a stream A blood-red course where dead men dream In winter’s cold, their ghosts I see Their Pale Host ever follows me Their pyres burned high, their arms they gleamed And now they lie in Glory’s sleep And though I lived, the light to see The Pale Host still walks beside me They wander far, grey banners high Though ‘neath these hills their bones still lie Long through the mists and wilds they roam But the Pale Host never will march home