From the curling mists that ghost the plains
And the winter's bitter cold
We track the paths of summer rain
To where the ocean swell once rolled
The forests for our fathers soar
Of late our love-note croon
Has driven down into the core
We night-ghosts of the moon

The sweeping lands that hide the bones
Of long forgotten foes
What one wolf takes the pack now owns
As we sing the age-old woes
But where the land stood young and green
Now a single tree forlorn
Bare earth where once the grass had been
My family we must mourn

The soaring trees that once grew tall
The pack that once so bold
Sang the hunt-song's joyful call
But now we're growing old
We mourned our loss - oh how we cried
now the last are left alone
slowly, slowly this land has died
And we will vanish like our home


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