Upon my throne I hear the wolven cries,
Fires burn deep in the dark.
Jubilation cries as my words take flight,
Luminous stars gild the night.
I summon you all, the ancient true,
Baptize in flame the Christian fools.
Heed my words, a call to arms,
Honour me now in war.

A splendour that is heathen pride,
Give your strength to me.

We are brothers, bonded by blood,
United we stand, together we fall.
Heathen lords of true wisdom rise,
Destroy the dreams of Christian lies.
The stench of death reaps this land,
Beset like a plague of winter.
Enthroned, creeping on the wind,
Enshrouding daylights glimmer.

The rain falls upon my face,
Yet I no longer feel her grace.
I hear cries upon the wind,
As chaos secretes this place.

Darkness and death cloud my eyes,
Under blackened winter skies.
A pyre will surely burn this night,
Claiming our fallen sons.

A splendour that is heathen pride,
Give your strength to me.

The glory of battle is surely nigh,
Our glorious banner flies ever high.
Heathen steel cuts through flesh and bone,
Brave men sworn to die alone.
Legions of men charge once again,
A battle cry pierces the night.
Ablaze with hatred and death in their hearts,
My brothers and kin prevail.

Behold as the new dawn arises,
Her pale light cracks the sky.
Across my pagan labyrinth,
Where my brothers fought and died.

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