Letra de Tale From The Deep Woods - Bal-Sagoth

The ravens are on the wing!
My scramasax is red (stained with the blood of many mercian warriors),
the ravens are on the wing,
by offa's decree i am an outlaw,

thee.)
The ravens are on the wing!
Ten leagues ride on lathered steed,
gold in hand to a sword-for-hire,
a blood-eagle carved by saxon steel,
and two score slain earns royal ire.
Gwynned lies two days westwards,
still further south, the weregeld calls.
mayhap with all-father woden's favour,
my deeds may yet inspire the skalds.
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Litha's moon gleams high o'er the tallest oak,
ancient king in this sylvan court of elm, ash and yew,
the wood-spirits watch from gnarled bough and bole,
as i pull two mercian shafts from my bloodied thews.
The ravens are on the wing!
I give you my hail,
i give you my blood,
i give you my life,
o' sylvan liege.
Beneath the oak, i rest, bone weary,
thirsting for a horn of ale or jug of mead,
and yet how could a heathen man wish for any more,
than the healing balms of english trees?
The ravens are on the wing!