The wild lord to the wars has gone.
In the ranks of the dead you shall find him.
His mighty sword he has girded on,
and his wild harp slung behind him.
For the goddess true fights the warrior bard,
for every hands against her,
one loyal sword her love shall guard,
one faithful harp shall praise her.
The Greenlord fell but his foemens chains,
could not drag his proud soul under.
never again did the wild harp sing,
for he tore its strings asunder.
Saying "no chains shall fetter thee,
you were ment to sing of purity.
Your songs were ment for the wild and free,
you shall never sing in slavery.
Mourn the death of the warrior king,
let the dancers halt and the wild bells ring .
Gird on your sword and let the battle begin,
for listen close and her the wild harp sing.
By Gothicus Freakyus.
an adaptation of a fragment authour unknown.