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From the lands, where blazing skies reflect in our hearts and eyes

From the times of pagan wars, the tree stands still, deep beneath the black soil our blood thrives.

“Bastards of the false god I will slaughter you all! Slay you from the land of my fathers! Heathen blood shall prevail, like once and for all, hail!”

Roots spread widely to every oak, with heathen blood of mine forever they soak!

With rites of my mothers, Mati Zemlja grant me powers to crush the Christian scums and drown their fucking faith!

I summon old spirits, promise blood to my gods, grind my old father’s axe to crush the false cross!

“Bastards of the false god I will slaughter you all! Slay you from the land of my fathers! Heathen blood shall prevail, like once and for all, hail!”

Trough these roots our blood flows forever in rememberance of the times, the tree stands still.

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