Night arrives to the deepest of the forest
Where shadows dance under the moon
Ravens fly in dark places and forgotten rivers born in frost mountains
Arcane thrones of the Old Gods that ruled this lands
I remember when the men of the cross arrived to this place
On those cold days of winter
With their axes they chopped our sacred forests
And burned our wise men
They destroyed our sacred temples of stone
And built churches for their foreign god
On those cold days of winter...
I was a child...
But now I am a Warrior
Who was born in unbaptised forests
Wrath guides our souls to the battles
And in profane rituals
Under the rune of the werewolf
we summon the old spirits of our land
banished to darkness by the priests of light.
As I walk I see immense valleys before me
Immerse on perpetual mist
With hillsides full of tall trees
Home of the Battleraven
Who seeks for the souls of the brave ones fallen in battle
Old totemic symbols resist the past of time
In the forests where I was born...
In the Barbarian South of the Pagan Lands.
