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Warriors ride with spear and shield

under the banners of the eagle

In black winter days when shadows

rise to life in legends

And beneath high trees the ancestral

cults of nature gods are reborn

From father to son the tradition perpetuates

the noble blood which

came from the north

And with it the hidden

cult guised to God's eyes

Barbarian clans crown their

victories with arcane runes

Coming like a pack of wolfs

They burst into Christ's

land proud and arrogant

Heaven shook under the

Vandal tribes trot

Gothic folk, victorious sons of Gutton

A thousand nations surrendered their

lands under your sword's push

(...)With strenght of bear and a wolf's gaze(...)

The poet wrote of your gestes

That still echo in Nova Gotiscanzia mountains

With bravery, glory and heroism