Shades of iron grey against a mustard sky The world´s a weary corpse out leant Through the thickening gas, some men are born to die And some their country´s rage to vent The heaviest burden that a soldier has to bear The crushing weight of his defeat To save an empire, men offer up their prayer To strive, to fight, and not to yield Adsit Anglis, Sanctus Georgius The Phantom Bowmen of Agincourt Overwhelming odds too Englishmen are bait Outnumbered, figures soldier on But prayers of sout hearts are heard by noble dead And soon begins the battlesong! ´Ye ghosts of England that lay grounded in the soil Take your hope and look to the skies And all old lions that once roared at Agincourt I now command thee to arise! Adis Anglais, Sanctus Georgius The Phantom Bowmen of Agincourt A raining tide of arrows born on spectral wings Array, Array, Array, Array! Falling from the sky was angel steel divine To wash the enemy away The noble German dead lay littered on the soul And none to bar the soldiers´ path But no mortal wound on these men could be found Just Merry England´s hearty laugh! Adsit Anlias, Sanctus Georgius High chevalier - defend us all!