آهنگ: Ancient Rites. Fatherland. Mother Europe.

Oh remember the proud Hellenic civilisation
The cradle of Europe where it all began
Or the Portuguese and Spanish Armada
Overwhelming Thy power, a tribute to the south

Bruges, Antwerp, Ghent forever in my heart
Representing medieval Flemish pride
Brave Teutonic, French and English knights
Thy shining armour now long vanished
Thy glory, however, forever remains
Praised be the Scandinavian hordes
Once the nightmare of the Christian world

I talk of not of mercy
I talk not of fear
The hopeless warriors of a Willing Doom

Children of Italia
In ancient times "Roma Caput Mundi"
De Verenigde Nederlanden, parel van het noorden
Belgium and The Netherlands stood as one

Mother Europe born from your womb
Mother Europe on Your soil shall be my tomb

I talk of not of mercy
I talk not of fear
The hopeless warriors of a Willing Doom
Oh what that gallant spirit shall resume
Leap from Europe's bank and call Thee from the tomb

(Hail to the sons of eastern Europe
the Slavonian soul never fades)
Blessed are Scotland, Ireland and Bretagne
Where the Celtic dream still lives on

Shall be my tomb!