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