True Celtic power
from the cape of Cornwall.
Cry of hope, angels cry
This was omen, our sign, prediction.
Distant gate, gothic grave
Through ages our clan still remain.
In this proud land I grew up strong,
My tears are flowing all around
The wind is twisting my sorrow
I still believe in truth and hate.
All through my life I have carried our ring,
All this was the fragment from my life.
In this proud land I was born alone
I was taught to fight, taught to win
They told me the way of steel and secret
I am the unburied child, child without a nam,
I fight for peace and love,
I am reborn