Khors - The Fog (...and Grief Still Moans) dalszöveg

Over the high hills the wind carries 
The voice of the old man-magus, herald of the death 
His news are echoing in the distance, 
Breaking the rest of the Earth 

Proud birds sing their song 
To heroes of the fights and to defeated 
To their pure souls and to their unbending will 

Deep waters of the river fly 
Hide bodies of the fallen 
Taking souls and healing wounds 

In the fog of cold gloom 
Grief's moaning is heard 
The moaning of the destroyed destinies 
And the spell of the old man.