Far-away echos accompany the dim lights of torches
Old and mighty trees twine along
The holy way of an ancient procession
Simple but obscure songs are
Murmured in the deep arboreal temple
Only two mighty blades shine in the reflection of fire
From our directions come the old sages
Each with his number
And each carrying his ancestor's treasures
Everything repeats as in
An old prophecy marked by a vision donated
By the Spirit of Nature
And nothing is quiet in the dark heart of the forest
It's inhabitants voices
The breed of the trees and the men's mantra
Are part of a unique great ritual
Nothing is quiet... nothing
The four shining serpents slowly draw near
To form a circle following the rhythm of
Dark and deep rumbles like the heartbeats
Of a huge dragon as he is drawing near
Everything wheels in an alchemist dance
Where the symbols will become laws preserved
By a family of sages, the men of the oaks
Four serpents united and became one circular serpents
Just one in the ancient nemeton
Where each man was near his stones and symbols
Now, everything is silent in the large forest
And even the magical lights of the flames seem
To burn out in the silence
In the circle of men and stones
Only the oldest one begins
To sing a new but terrible prophecy
