Rejoice at your misery, as smudges of your imperfect world, disappear like whispers in the wind.
remain among the passing times, unknowing your brutal destiny.
Thousand battles, the destiny in his hands,
you can contemplate his perpetual purity, the brilliance of his challenging look to the infinite
appearing against God's wreath.
To acclaim Ihú.
Khalá bhu-hu children of Lhot.
The masters of the light have met enraged by your decadence,
cold as his look, imperishable Kings.
Behold me, I'm eternal.
I reborn with the power of a storm. Trapped by hatred and ire.
My eyes are empty of harmony, deep as the abyss.
Sons of the soberness, forged among steel and battles,
elected to be the supremacy.
It will born a new tomorrow in which we will be praised like gods, remembered among the course of the times.
the skies are opened to host us in their protection, we have been elected by the power of light