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A barbarian young and strong
Went to the forest’s stream
And there he found an artefact
As seen in shaman dreams

A wooden snake-like talisman
Of ancient craftsman’s hands
Would signify the downfall
Of accursed christian lands

The shaman raised his hands and eyes
Spoke words of ancient lore
The armies of the forest snakes
Will poison hordes of their God’s whore

Wolfsbane purple mandrake roots
The poisons growing in our woods
Spawned to weaken all the foes
Of green and pagan goods

Slender shadows in the night
Sicken water from their well
Ills and pains before the fight
Shall supersede their Christian hell.

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