Seven golden hill tops lie sleeping in snow,
it patters the pavements and rattles the roads.
Rain rusts the gold but washes the snow away,
it’s where sins are soaked but where demons play.
Precious pure world where we vice yet thrive
and we speak of valour and we gamble life.
Great green forest spreads with bewitching song
but in the shadowed shade the melody is gone.
Deep in its dark monsters move and the rascals roam.
They take away the dreams and future we’ve known.
With eyes so deep and their jagged claws
they can make blood flow from hill to shore.
Seven golden hilltops lie gasping in blood,
it caters the beasts and starves the good.
Rain rinses the gold but spreads the red for miles,
it gives the oceans a sanguinary style.