O Vandringsmand i een forbandet
Nat Troe ey at hans
Had dig vild skaane
Hans Rov vild ey vaere nogen anden
End dig -
Der vild ski¦lve i hans v¦r
I uselt Haab om at
Huus er n¦r
End dig -
Hvis Blod skald blifve hans st¦rke
Viin Oc Si¦l, hans hellige
Trof© Faaf¦ngt han lader dig gyde
Ut dit Blod i
Smertens Sin
Saa du som dèd ey
Sofnloest kand
Fort¦lde Fr¦nder: "Ulven er ham!"
Som Offer for
Beistets Krav
Dit Blod vild rende koldt som
B¦cl i Grav
Gud er ey her, men
Dèden n¦r
Oc hvert Secund som her
Er undt dig -
Skimrer i et dobbelt
Ski¦r Aff baade
Liiv & Dèd
Rasende lader han
Bliket binde
Lèfter dit i
Maaneskinnet
O Wanderer in this infernal
Night Believe not his
Hate will spare thee
His prey shall be no one
But thee -
Who shall tremble when he is near
In foolish hope for shelter
And thou -
Whose bloode strong wine shall be
Thy Soule, his sacred
Trophie In vein he lets thee shed
Thy bloode in this
Sea of Payne
Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends
Revealing: "The Wolf is he!"
Coldlie thy bloode shall flow
As streams through
Graves below
God is not here, but death draws near
And secondes are
O, so few
In a Nature twofold they shine
Beginning and
End combine
Fool, thou art prostrate
By the raging eyne of his
Lifted upwards
Rapt in Moonshine