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Through clouds of fog and ice, |
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We are gathered under a dark starry sky, |
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Our pagan fires are burning in the night, |
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Flames rise high up to the sky; unholy omen of hell |
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Riding with the winds, we have come |
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With the strength of one thousand swords |
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The old man mutters words of hatred and grief, |
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His face scarred by traitors, |
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Eyes gazing into nothingness, |
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Shadow of a once mighty warrior, |
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Anxiously clenching the hilt of a rusty sword |
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Now the time of repent is close at hand |
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The ground with start to open |
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And hellfire, bright and perilous, |
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Seething messenger of death and pain, |
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Will fulfil it's destiny destructively. |
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For the day is not far when we will |
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Kill their sons and rape their daughters |
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We will burn and plunder their villages |
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Culminating in the destruction of their cursed churches |
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Symbols of oppression and humiliation. |
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The glowing ashes of which they will behold |
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Before we finally cut their throats |
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Smoke will rise from the ground |
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The triumphant roar of our hoard |
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Condemned and mocked for so many years |
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Will fill the air with a victorious rage, |
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Ride along my faithful comrades, |
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And feast upon their rotting corpses, |
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And curse their poisonous blood for eternity, |
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For our race has sworn an oath to earth and elements |
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The sermons of liars we despise, |
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The prayers of weaklings we hate, |
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Their bodies will rot on the soil |
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They so eagerly tried to flee |
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Eyes picked by the ravens, their souls |
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Will wander the battlefield evermore |
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The fields of retaliation where the Christian race |
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Will meet it's final doom, |
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No mercy for the weak, by Wolves' teeth |
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The Sheep will be slain. |
