Who's covered by darkness, wandering in madness
The infinite life is losing it's sense
The fog is taking away the autumn landscape
And the winter authority is coming back to life

Having left only memory, time is going away
It's carrying away what we have forgotten
The light, which has been revived for new creations will mention us only, but will not hear

Whitest snow
Muffled and stifled
By the song of blue heavens
Lulled to sleep, teared the wounds,
Milked with blood of true woods,
Sumptuous feast gave the ravens

Gust of wind
Turned to steel
First let fall, then rise up
Whirled and harrowed.
In the midst of strong oaks
Spread asides the decay
And the foliage been shed
At the sudden stroke.

Thunder then roared
Lightnings victorious bred, carried, foretokened, made a threat.
Kissed the plains
By the splinters of rains, by the crying of dew
Coldly came through.

Howl of wolf pierced the fog
Woke up and taught, inspired with delight.
By the faithfulness, honour
The woods enchanted, with an anxious tocsin
In ages sounded.

[Sturm Cover]

The dark soils have been tainted by the blood of our enemies
Their dead wander in the unknown
Our fallen ascend into astral skies

The dead are left in perpetual sorrow, and the emerald spring leaves shimmer in the light of rekindled stars.
Cries are heard within the whispering breeze, and the dew and mist settle below our feet in this land of ours.

Vagaries of black semblance appear, stalking through the night,
(Remnants that were carried through the winds of bloodshed)

The dark soils have been tainted by the blood of our enemies
Their dead lay on the battlefield, their memory now hunts the trees

Licwiglunga! A chant that evokes the grievous dead
(Their cries have remained endless since physical death)

The furious winds gather above the haunted trees.
Winds of riding affinity.
The spectral huntsman ride through the night.

The father of all leads the Wodenream.
In pursuit of the Scienlaeca.
The dead are devoured - unmerciful flight.
The dead are devoured - unmerciful flight.

Fly for me Hugin, fly for me Munin. Tell me what you behold.
Bring to me news of life and death from the cold, western unknown.

We've scoured this land, to find the place of rest.
Mourning for the loss, to the stars I do digress.

To exorcise this pain of sorrow, in the land I trust.
To remove the fear of the unknown, in the land I trust.

Ride on a firm westward wind, to this jagged island's spine
Where the treacherous rocks lie in a mocking salute, to the souls they condemn to the hunt.

Circle the mountains, scour the land, let not a stone lay unturned.
Heralds of woe are still better than none, for uncertainty pulls my heart low.

I mourn the loss if those who have been taken by the land:
we take the herald from Woden, to guide these souls to rest.

A harsh wind blows westward over the northern sea
A lonely land beckons through the rain and ocean breeze
An isolated land that is without thought and remembrance

The voice of Nerthus calls

A journey into fields of solitude over the northern sea
As a clan we sail under the stars to fulfill what shall become
An isolated land that we shall reign and defend

The sun, luminescent in the north

An imbalance shifts the skies
As we walk unspoiled paths
An unfamiliar energy cloaks us
A new sense of understanding is left

This land is the source of all eloquence
Mainstay of wisdom and bringer of legend
Bound in the purity of dearkness