Our blood pulses through hardened veins
In what we drink and we breath
Our souls are solid bodies thick
Chared with practice made of iron
Born of blood and sweat heat of day and firepit
Illumnate the night sky with strikes of our hammers
Forging for the saviors of our creed
It is bringing these hammers down that which seels their fate
These strong pagan hands bring the unbelievers to rest
Dark and iron blood the last of our kind
Strength is our gift justice is our fate
We mercilessly defend what is rightfully ours
The hidious shadows and light under which we are the last
Unrested, tireless souls forged from Wotan's might

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