Through the glades and thickets,
Comes the roar of machinery.
The taste of acrid smoke and the smell of avaricious blood.
The last green place will be snuffed,
And Leviathan's victory completed.
Rising from ashen groves and charred stumps.
Rising from oceans of oil and lakes of blood.
Monuments to a culture of excess and enslavement.
Ahead lies Ragnarok.
Our march to a new world will not stop,
Until the flesh is hacked from our bodies,
And our bones turn to dust.
Existence may end, but our dreams will remain.
The new seeds of the earth will carry on our memory.
My soul will take flight on the immortal wind,
The spirits of the dreamers ever remembered,
In the songs of our children.