The calm little town, the green sleepy fields,
The linden wore a flowery crown,
The suns rays in the east, the night comes to yield,
The moon in the sky, it slowly goes down.

As the spring awakens with cold water drops,
A sound in the distance sings of some unrest,
The world seems so distant from the mountain tops,
Something woeful comes for people of the west.

Loud as thunder, quick as sand,
A dozen horses breathing flames,
They have come to quake the lands,
With cloaked horsmen without names.

Growling curses, shouting orders,
In a strange and foreign tongue,
Horsmen rallied unnamed soldiers,
Half a hundred men, and strong.

Doors were shattered, mothers screamed,
Horses made unholy noise,
Daggers blazed and fire gleamed,
As they took the first born boys.

They will train them, tey'll be the same,
Strong as bears and without fear,
They'll lose their home, they'll have no name,
The god wills they carry spears.

One day they will come back,
To the town, where they were born,
To the green fields and they'll attack,
The mothers from whom they were torn.

O, it was many, many a year ago,
And not manyremember,not many care.
And noone really, really knows,
But the linden tree over there.