Hymn to the son

Lying on a ground full of entrails,
knowing it's the last chance to feel your sword,
fighting hard and bleeding for your homeland.
No-one will say that your blood was spilled in vain.

They will sing a hymn to your glory,
carry your remains on defended ground.
Blades will guide your march to your fathers.
We stand here sending you a last resounding Hail!

I cross the sea and all my doubts vanish,
the hails behind fade to shades.
The eternal hall of my ancestors
opens the doors and welcomes the son.