White drops from an old tree,
Falling on sacred fields,
There is nothing to see,
Just me with the shields,
Holding them upwards,
To protect the world.
Strange fellons on the gateway,
Following the signs,
As cold as vanished grey,
With nothing on their minds,
Screaming for me,
To protect the world.
Der Nerowinger
Klein aber fein und ohne Titel...
Falling on sacred fields,
There is nothing to see,
Just me with the shields,
Holding them upwards,
To protect the world.
Strange fellons on the gateway,
Following the signs,
As cold as vanished grey,
With nothing on their minds,
Screaming for me,
To protect the world.
Der Nerowinger
Klein aber fein und ohne Titel...