Angra

(Matos)
We were born in a Golden Age
Beyond the creed
Blown with the winds to meet
The ones who creep
And pray
Unshold feet traces on fresh sand
A map unfold
Spreading out knowledge,
Magic and love
And then
... ooh, and then,
Carried by wooden gods
We leave toward the sky
Gushed out the holy blood
>From those who die
To bless
Ooh, and dance...