Blood Of Christians On My Sword

The frost tries to reach us

with its cruel, cold hands

the cold witheness hurts our eyes

and we still march with wind in the face.

We follow the trace of blood in the snow

yesterday we burnt two villages

we killed women and children

heads out of the bodies of priests

we impaled on our wooden socle

The blood of hideous monk

is still getting blacker on my axe

their temple burnt

and we fed a fire with their corpses

my brothers are marching silently

the great frost turns their hearts to ice

the warm blood will bring the life back to their bodies

Another christian village is near

those who escaped showed us the way

by the blood from their wounds

we must deal them a deathblow

before wolves get them

on the horizon behind us

the black smoke appears on the sky

on the hills, full of trees

wolves observe us

they´ll leave the hills and follow us

as soon as the day is over