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Iron Maiden - Death Of The Celts Lyrics

Paroles de la chanson Death of the Celts par Iron Maiden
The road it winds uphill all the way
Ride to glory on this day
Remember now to do him so proud
In God we trust, cry it out loud
Redeem my salve of winning ways
Remember all the darkest days
Of that I know will see me tread
Walketh upon the field of the dead
The burden of blood, the breaketh of bone
The battlefield now I make it my own
The glory of the morning we make
Praying the rose is still awake
Lord above my spirit says
Death is not proud, no more no less
Power of my soul will be free
Deliver us on to victory
Wither a pain that's almost a joy
Wander there my heart will destroy
Dreaming of days of our youth again
Stranger no wonder memories remain
Pour thy scorn upon the realm
Pity me none at the gates of our hell
For I am but a messenger, one
Sent to do reckoning what must be done