Tune: 'Men of Harlech'
Lyrics adapted by Mark Robins and MOB
Men of Furthest, march to glory,
Dark-eyed Death is waiting for ye,
Damnèd Stormwinds hover o’er ye:
Hear ye not its call?
At your sloth it seems to ponder:
Let thy death cry peal like thunder,
Burst their hornèd helms asunder,
Every foe appal!
From the rocks rebounding,
Let the war cry sounding
Summon all, at Emperor’s call,
Our Stormwind foe surrounding.
Men of Furthest, on to glory!
See, your standard famed in story
Waves these burning words afore ye:
"Furthest scorns to yield!"
’mid the fray, see dead and dying,
Friend and foe together lying;
All around, the rune-spells flying
Scatter sudden death!
Maddened steeds are wildly neighing,
Brazen trumpets hoarsely braying,
Wounded men to standards praying
With their parting breath!
See: they’re in Disorder!
Comrades, keep close order!
Ever they shall rue the day
They crossed our glowing border!
Now Orlanthi flee before us;
Crimson Crescent floateth o’er us!
Raise the loud exulting chorus,
"Furthest wins the field!"
Tune: 'National Anthem of the U.S.S.R'
Lyrics adapted by Chris Gidlow
Indissoluble Union of Satraps and Peoples,
Guided by faith in our Goddess above,
In fertile plantations, in workshops and quarries,
Working together, inspired by our love:
Moonson the Emperor,
Saviour and Monarch
We pledge thee our love. (x2)
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