Snared under fire-blackened skies, fettered in humbling irons Burned are the staples of life Crushed by a torturing hand, terrors demolish the land Low is the spirit of man Yield prostrate in decay, dignity stolen away Grim is the price that was paid Brave are the ones who defy rulers in castles on high Slowly a nation will die
Arrogant conquering powers, pompous in ivory towers Crows at the carcass devour Oil in a deadly machine, cruelty reigning supreme Sneering at all that has been
But we will rise, cast them aside See the tyrants flee to the hostile sea And we will own all that will be Never fade or fall, ever breaking free
See the fires on the hills Hear the hammers ring Feel the thrill of the fight Let the storm begin
'Worhton [hie] castelas wide geond þas þeode, and earm folc swencte, and a syððan hit yflade swiðe. Wurðe god se ende þonne God wylle.' - AS Chronicle 1066
(They built castles all across the land, and oppressed the wretched people, and afterwards it grew ever worse. May the end be good, when God wills.)
Harshly, the wretched compelled; bearing the curse of the cwelled Plundered is dwelling and feld Roaming, the ousted adrift; stoic, the stalwart persist Bleak is the conqueror's gift
But (so) we will rise, cast them aside See the tyrants flee to the hostile sea And we will own all that will be Never fade or fall, ever (we are) breaking free
See the fires on the hills Hear the hammers ring Feel the thrill of the fight Let the storm begin