A Thousand Ways to Call You Home

Every king calls this land his own. Then why do our songs outlast their thrones? Listen. We raise our horns against the snow; The mountain answers from below. Our dead have seats beside the flame; Our children learn each fallen name. Let winter claw against the door - We'll make the rafters shake once more! Red Mountain darkens dawn to rust; We hear our elders in the dust. Great Houses scheme; the ash tribes roam, Yet both know where the dead call home. We bear their names through ash and rain - What fire takes, we raise again. White-Gold watches wheat and rain; Our roads reach out like open veins. We built an empire, bore its cost; These fields remember who we lost. The heartland is not just a throne - It is the road that brings you home. Tamriel! Through loss and flame, Crowns turn to dust, but we remain. Not one people, not one throne - A thousand ways to call you home. For every hearth, for every name, For all the hands that build again: Though ages turn and towers fall, We are the roots beneath them all! A hundred courts, a hundred schemes; A crown for every lord who dreams. With spell and steel, we earn our place; Two ancient bloodlines share one face. Our banners quarrel in the rain - The hills outlast each lord's domain. We crossed the sea with songs of steel; No borrowed crown decides our will. Through harbor salt and desert flame, Our swords still guard a people's name. The sea may swallow where we're from - It cannot drown what we've become. From coral shores to towers of white, We shape the dawn in living light. Each perfect line, each careful art Preserves a world we hold apart. Yet gilded gates cannot decree That grief must stay beyond the sea. Tamriel! Through loss and flame, Crowns turn to dust, but we remain. Not one people, not one throne - A thousand ways to call you home. For every hearth, for every name, For all the hands that build again: Though ages turn and towers fall, We are the roots beneath them all! No living branch shall feel our blade; We keep the ancient bargain made. Our cities breathe; our arrows gleam; We walk within the forest's dream. Tread softly where the old roots run - The hunter and the home are one. Two moons decide the shapes we wear; The scent of sugar fills the air. Through burning sand and temple stone, This one still knows the way back home. Let strangers weigh our worth in gold - Our moonlit tales cannot be sold. Your maps dissolve beneath our rain; The Hist still whispers through our veins. We shed the names our masters gave; No child is born to be a slave. Your iron rusts; our wounds will heal. We bend like reeds, but never kneel. You razed our walls and called us gone. Our hammers answered, on and on. No map decides where we belong - We are the stone. We are the song. We need not love the flags you've flown To know the ache of losing home. Tamriel! Through loss and flame, Crowns turn to dust, but we remain. Not one people, not one throne - A thousand ways to call you home. For every hearth, for every name, For all the hands that build again: Though ages turn and towers fall, No single crown can hold us all! Tamriel... A thousand ways to call you home.