lyrics by D. Jole/music by G. Schoemaker)



Red mists of the morning

Rise from the battleground.

Red sun on the water,

Weeping without sound.



Silent wind blows empty

On blackened rock and bone.

Fields of grass are shining glass.

The ravens softly moan.

They're trying to



CHORUS

Wake the seven sleepers,

Deep within their cave

When the fire comes, burns everyone,

Who will dig your grave?

Wake the ancient huntsman,

Don't let dead dogs lie.

Hunt with the red-eared hounds of hell,

Ride screaming through the sky.



Children of the warriors,

World crumbling at their feet,

Can't drink the blackened water,

Can't eat the burning wheat.



Men are out a-hunting

To win the dragon's claws,

But steel knives and empty lives

Can't save them from its jaws.

Their screams will



CHORUS



Fields and hills lie barren,

Plows rusting on their sides.

Mighty ships lie empty,

Rotting in the tide.



Curtains flutter softly,

Like moths against a light.

Women turn from cities burned

And vanish from our sight.

They're going to



CHORUS