Pockets of the abyss' cries, in the last eleven hours
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The icy light of the stars against sharp teeth glistens
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The cold of Maror, the shell of hunger, the sound of the icy night
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Shadows and burning blood thirst in silver-gray wolf attire
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Sharp claws and rag rose, hellfire flames
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The wind of horror sweeps cold over shady ridges
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The harvest of hatred, the time of wrath, a time of revenge is here
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Then the blood of the people of Yahweh is poured out and the mouth of the serpent when
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Wolf winter, niding time
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Raven mysteries in the dark harbor of the heart
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Whispers in the depths of the night, the true name of the ruler
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Now the grave is broken, the stone is overturned, in the barren blackness of the mind
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So wake up the Nordic beast to bring death and pain
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Everything that has now been harvested shall be in the time of retribution
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Gather now, let the scythe sweep, when wolf winter begins
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Bones are broken, throats are torn in Maror's terrified waltz
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The jaws of the werewolf beast close around the trembling neck of the worlds
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The seeds of wrath bloom, brought to life by night
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In night-black splendor, in black crowned, the wreath of death give us
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Yawning jaws growl now that the spirit is possessed
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Now darkness, atrocity, black-faced gift, on the werewolves' dark night
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In the soft flesh of prey we lower our teeth
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In the light of primordial flames, ancient eyes should shine
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Let the scythe sweep over the flock of sheep while the winds howl bitterly
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In the light of our lord's fire, the Nordic steel will sparkle |