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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.