release thy fears of ancient slight.
thy land needeth thy hands;
as it maketh the climb of infrequent chance.
foregoeth the fervent whispering that dawns,
from thy cluster of fiendish demons.
for, whenst thee discover thine own strength;
thine enemies, within, shall vanish.
thy fatherland has not yet mended.
it needeth lads akin to thee,
to banish lingering sorrows, foes, and doubts;
and, thee must shareth the bonds.
enjoin the gatherings beginning,
within the edges of thy crying land.
condone the fight for lasting freedom,
from all atrocities and odious fiends.