The ill winds of winter exceed my walls The reapings of autumn to rot in their halls The coming of summer a season to slave To famish and toil in fields I have made I am the sower of harvest you take The hearts of my children in beggary ache Our wounds are not mended and worsen in age Our loyalty descends as surfaces rage
Never again will we bow to thee While we wallow in poverty Our voices one curse fealty Your reign unjust
We are the dawn and the dusk of a day Sufferers of stone at a penniless wage The laws of your court have been written in our blood Our bones make the throne upon which you sit Hoarder of cures when we are the sick Soon your dissolution will be at hand Abolish the crowned
We are the weapon that conquers your foes Currency of blood spent in the snow No more will we swallow the elixir of lies No more will we forfeit what is ours by right We are the dread in your eyes as you all The hour has come for the kingly to crawl No remorse for those who dwell in your halls Our numbers united to slaughter you all