Dying out is the sheen of the sun, darkness closing in
and the conqueror so treacherous stands at his mortal end.
The people of the deep woods gathering for attack,
for the faith of their fathers' they now raise all arms.
When the light disappears they march in from everywhere
and soon their swords made of iron clatter in the air.
There's no one to survive, everything they will destroy.
Sign of the hammer they carry, to the ground all crosses fall.
Let the slaughter begin...
Until the traitor's end...
The blood of an enemy is pouring down the sword
whilst the blade thirsting for it dashes deeper in.
Children of the prophet,
your fate is written within the steel of our blades.
For too long have you inhabited our lands.
We do not need your savior,
we do not need your lies.
Whoever is unfettered, no man can set him free.
Nature is our mother,
our altar on her bosom.
The most sacred of ours dwell everywhere around.
Now see the snowdrifts shine, hear the rapids rush.
They are the gods we worship
and we will not forsake what's ours.
And you came up north,
so far from home
where you shall once again return.
For once more do our spears prey on the blood of the apostates.
Death to the sheep who deprived us of our faith,
either withdraw from the north or our vengeance you shall know.
The god of yours is such a distant creature to our folk,
it shall vanish into eternities with our wrath upon.
Soon imploring for mercy with no escape in sight.
Running through the forests but never hiding from our blades.
The battle soon is overcome, the morning rays do rise,
and soon do our great warriors ride onwards to Tuonela.
Onwards to Tuonela...
And the conqueror is gone...
The blood of an enemy is pouring down the sword
whilst the blade thirsting for it dashes deeper in.
Shed the blood... death overcome...
Sound the clash of iron... pain overcome...
Kill them all... sow destruction...
Clatter in the air... declare a hunt for blood...
