The stars collected
Each world accounted for
Freed all the children
Seems there is nothing more

If I only had a rowboat I would row it up to heaven
And if heaven will not have me I would take the other option
I will seek out my own satisfaction

From the wight lying in the barrow
To the priest with his broken arrows
There's a method to the madness
They will feign an expression of sadness
A concatenation of locusts
And the farmers are losing their focus
On the pitch of the Avenroe grasses
I will sing, sing, sing to the masses
Oh Heartland, up yours!

The hollow voice of the 14th century
Too much assumption to be taken seriously

Oh, you wrote me like a Disney kid, in cut-offs and a beater
With a feathered fringe it doesn't suit a simoniac breeder
Doesn't work, doesn't fly, doesn't handle
From the wight lying in the barrow
To the priest with his broken arrows
There's a method to the madness
They will feign an expression of sadness
A concatenation of locusts
And the farmers are losing their focus
On the pitch of the Avenroe grasses
I will sing, sing, sing to the masses
Oh Heartland, up yours!

(My home, my homeland, my homeland
My home, my homeland, my homeland
My home, my homeland, my homeland
My home, my homeland, my homeland)
I will not sing your praises
(My home, my homeland, my homeland)
I will not sing your praises here
(My home, my homeland, my homeland)
I will not sing your praises
(My home, my homeland, my homeland)
I will not sing your praises here
(My home, my homeland, my homeland)
(My home)
I will not sing your praises
(My home, my homeland, my homeland)
(My home)
I will not sing your praises here
(My home, my homeland, my homeland)
(My home)
I will not sing your praises
(My home, my homeland, my homeland)
(My home)
I will not sing your praises here
(My home, my homeland, my homeland
My home)