487-1 The Naval Raids

Rise of the morning
Weary souls lay on the beach
The sea hungers still

I thread on sea horse
The sensation not welcoming
I long for shore

Heathen beasts on us
The sea shall turn crimson red
From noble christian blood

Led by a mad Prince
Doubt and despair in our eyes
Saxon lightning strikes

We hold ground steadfastly
But we are but clay and blood
Soon the clay shall break

Our vessel collide with their
They bring their blades of pure iron
Their size of grown men

We armed with noble steel
The christian ideals and Jesus´ blessing
Satan clouds the skies

Blades clashing fiercely
Shields breaking as our spirits
No salvation for us

A familiar feeling
A blade through my side yet again
Satan shall not consume me

My departure is not yet
The Prince´s great ship crashes upon us
Then there´s only darkness
-Árpád the Swift