Tik þodþiai, sparnuoti, lapais pabyra á vëjà,
Tik þemë kraujà sugers, þemë iðdþiuti spëjo,
It savo rankomis, visa kas gyva kvieèia,
Keliais á juodàjà dirvà, pirðtai þarijas lieèia...

Atvërë þaizdà, sruva kraujas,
Viskà degina aplinkui ir iðvalo ugnis...
Kas iðpaþysta savo rankomis sukûrtà,
Protu pavergtà apakins ðirdis...
Ar tai malda, ar tai kelionë
Ið kurios jau niekas niekada nebegryð?
Ar dovanosi savo baimæ, nusilenksi prieð
Gyvybæ, jei kas jos papraðys?

Tiesiai á dangø, krinta ið rankø,
Tik nespëja akis suþiûrët...
Kyla it liepsnos, uþkeikimai ir burtai,
Tylomis tolimos praeities...
Aidi nuaidi, pavirsta á ðaltá,
Sustoja vanduo á ledà...
Tiesiai á dangø, nuo barzdos,
Paskutiniai midaus laðai...

Atvërë þaizdà, sruva kraujas,
Viskà degina aplinkui ir iðvalo ugnis...
Kas iðpaþysta savo rankomis sukûrtà,
Protu pavergtà apakins ðirdis...
Ar tai malda, ar tai kelionë
Ið kurios jau niekas niekada nebegryð?
Ar dovanosi savo baimæ, nusilenksi prieð
Gyvybæ, jei kas jos papraðys?

Tik toliai vingiuoti, suteka upem i prada,
Tik menuo veliai numirs, menuo ramybe rado,
Is tyro sulinio, sudrumstos akys sviecia,
Rankos lyg Jievaro sakos, visa kas gyva kviecia...

[English translation:]

Rites

Winged words turn to leaves and scatter to the wind
The soil will soak in blood and harden
As if with their own hands they calls out to all that live
Kneeling on the black soil, fingers claw in hot coals...

The wound is gaping, blood flows freely
The fire devours and cleanses us all
He who confesses to his own creation,
His heart will blind the slaves of the mind
Is this a prayer or is it a journey
From which no man will ever return?
Will you vanquish your fear?
Will you redeem your life when you hear the call?

Slip out of hands, and fall up to the skies -
Unfathomable to human eye...
Rise up in flames from enchantments and spells,
Silently out from the past...
Whispers and sounds, turn into frost
All water halts – and turns to ice
Up to heaven... falls the last drop of mead
Dripping from my beard...

The wound is gaping, blood flows freely
The fire devours and cleanses us all
He who confesses to his own creation,
His heart will blind the slaves of the mind
Is this a prayer or is it a journey
From which no man will ever return?
Will you vanquish your fear?
Will you redeem your life when you hear the call?

Rivers meander into the distance – back to their source
The moon is dying once again for she has found peace
Whilst darkened eyes shine from purest wells
Hands spread like Sycamore branches embracing all life