In the Depths of Black Hills - Khors

The gods take away the lives of warriors

Choosing the very best ones

Families are crying for the dead

Farewelling their souls

The haze is covering the tops of the hills

The ravens are flying over them

Cold wind blowing away

Ashes of burial flame

Old wolf at the edge of the wood

Looks with his tired old eyes

At the celebration of glory

And the greatness of death