It's hard, the klansmen galloping down
Red, the dust their hooves have blown
Loud, the lashing of their steel
Dim, the terror they conceal
Mad was the moon when Michael died
Chill were his thighs against the clay
Never more to know the day
Dry was his tongue against the mold
Never to be growing old
But once his men had riding tall
Now all is blood upon their hands
It's woah, woah, woah and woah I'm calling
Twelve wild winds are loudly raging
Nine salt seas are deeply boiling
Six dark swans are fiercely reeling
Three cold graves are numbly wailing
Blue, the hooded eyes that blind
Blonde, the sour ties that bind
White, mushroom faces leer
Red, the flaming cross they bare
Black was the sun when Andrew died
Chill were his eyes against the clay
Never more to see the day
Cold were his loins against the loan
Never to be going home
But once his men had riding tall
Now all his blood upon our hands
It's woah, woah, woah and woah I'm calling
Twelve wild winds are loudly raging
Nine salt seas are deeply boiling
Six dark swans are fiercely reeling
Three cold graves are numbly wailing
It's one, the wizard high on his throne
Two, the whispers he has moaned
Three, the bodies underground
Four, the freedoms none of them found
Five, their senses never more
And six, their parents on the shore
It's homey bells for James who died
Chill as his groin against the clay
Never more to feel the day
But once his men had riding tall
Now all his blood upon our hands
It's woah, woah, woah and woah I'm calling
Twelve wild winds are loudly raging
Nine salt seas are deeply boiling
Six dark swans are fiercely reeling
Three cold graves are numbly wailing