My skin is cold and the birds fly free
Over my head, where winter grows
A heathen's call, stand up or fall
This world is yours, for you to rule
This, the blood of sin
Flows freely
The unstoppable force
In the naked flesh
My skin is cold â your skin is cold
Black metal rock and a scent of leather
And bloodstained gold
I go with you, on the path we make
Snow covered mountain
I gaze in awe
Wondering who and what was here before
I made my mark on that sacred soil
This phoenix rose from a pit of pain
One nation's man carrying the weight,
Of a people's disgrace
This is the turnaround!
Driven by birthright and godsent will
