Wolf & Hatred

	O Vandringsmand i een forbandet
	Nat Troe ey at hans
	Had dig vild skaane
	Hans Rov vild ey vaere nogen anden
	End dig -
	Der vild ski¦lve i hans v¦r
	I uselt Haab om at
	Huus er n¦r
	End dig -
	Hvis Blod skald blifve hans st¦rke
	Viin Oc Si¦l, hans hellige
	Trof© Faaf¦ngt han lader dig gyde
	Ut dit Blod i
	Smertens Sin
	Saa du som dèd ey
	Sofnloest kand
	Fort¦lde Fr¦nder: "Ulven er ham!"
	Som Offer for
	Beistets Krav
	Dit Blod vild rende koldt som
	B¦cl i Grav
	Gud er ey her, men
	Dèden n¦r
	Oc hvert Secund som her
	Er undt dig -
	Skimrer i et dobbelt
	Ski¦r Aff baade
	Liiv & Dèd
	Rasende lader han
	Bliket binde
	Lèfter dit i
	Maaneskinnet
	O Wanderer in this infernal
	Night Believe not his
	Hate will spare thee
	His prey shall be no one
	But thee -
	Who shall tremble when he is near
	In foolish hope for shelter
	And thou -
	Whose bloode strong wine shall be
	Thy Soule, his sacred
	Trophie In vein he lets thee shed
	Thy bloode in this
	Sea of Payne
	Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends
	Revealing: "The Wolf is he!"
	Coldlie thy bloode shall flow
	As streams through
	Graves below
	God is not here, but death draws near
	And secondes are
	O, so few
	In a Nature twofold they shine
	Beginning and
	End combine
	Fool, thou art prostrate
	By the raging eyne of his
	Lifted upwards
	Rapt in Moonshine

	O Vandringsmand i een forbandet
	Nat Troe ey at hans
	Had dig vild skaane
	Hans Rov vild ey vaere nogen anden
	End dig
	Der vild ski lve i hans v r
	I uselt Haab om at
	Huus er n r
	End dig
	Hvis Blod skald blifve hans st rke
	Viin Oc Si l, hans hellige
	Trof Faaf ngt han lader dig gyde
	Ut dit Blod i
	Smertens Sin
	Saa du som dè d ey
	Sofnloest kand
	Fort lde Fr nder: " Ulven er ham!"
	Som Offer for
	Beistets Krav
	Dit Blod vild rende koldt som
	B cl i Grav
	Gud er ey her, men
	Dè den n r
	Oc hvert Secund som her
	Er undt dig
	Skimrer i et dobbelt
	Ski r Aff baade
	Liiv Dè d
	Rasende lader han
	Bliket binde
	Lè fter dit i
	Maaneskinnet
	O Wanderer in this infernal
	Night Believe not his
	Hate will spare thee
	His prey shall be no one
	But thee
	Who shall tremble when he is near
	In foolish hope for shelter
	And thou
	Whose bloode strong wine shall be
	Thy Soule, his sacred
	Trophie In vein he lets thee shed
	Thy bloode in this
	Sea of Payne
	Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends
	Revealing: " The Wolf is he!"
	Coldlie thy bloode shall flow
	As streams through
	Graves below
	God is not here, but death draws near
	And secondes are
	O, so few
	In a Nature twofold they shine
	Beginning and
	End combine
	Fool, thou art prostrate
	By the raging eyne of his
	Lifted upwards
	Rapt in Moonshine