Out of mists and under fog
rose the cry of warrior lords
blue faces O! Woad
screaming forms charging bold.
swift as winds fierce as beasts
led by druids with runes ablaze
enchanted clouds of battle rage
bards a-singing their battle staves.
the whistling whirls of deadly slings
blades of bronze that bore such sting
fey blessed men with red-eyed gleam
blood chilled cries and raging screams.
a terrible foe to those who seek
to claim the lands beneath their feet
for no other tongue can ever sate
the bloody hunts of Celtic fate.
alas like winds they fade amiss
driven and chased like hunted beasts
all but forgotten in dreams and songs
as the last spell leaves the druids lungs.
against a foe unmatched they fell to rest
as javelin and blade doth rend to shreds
the march of progress on disciplined roads
doth sweep aside the enchanted groves.
they live now in faeries' eaves
memories of times that never sleeps
as their songs enchant their spirit seeps
into the blood of kin sundered by deeds.
"we sing to the lords, the huntsmen who sleep"
"an oath bespelled by blood and by deed"
"under sacred groves will once again"
"dance the Woad with blue painted skin."
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