| The clock is ticking, ding dong
|
| The night is long
|
| Bloodied, we sing our main hunter song
|
| Tick, thank you, ding, dong
|
| To the course of the hunting moon
|
| In the wolf hour we sing our main hunter song
|
| The clock strikes five to twelve
|
| The flap is a foldable piston
|
| The cold light of the torchlight
|
| Lights over frozen gravel
|
| Drink from the juice of hatred
|
| Which rewarded us with drive
|
| In the group, it gets weak courage
|
| Together we will shed blood
|
| When planing, chips fall
|
| And planing, we shall do
|
| Doubt to a minimum
|
| Is not something we want to hear
|
| The clock is ticking, ding dong
|
| The night is long
|
| Bloodied, we sing our main hunter song
|
| Tick, thank you, ding, dong
|
| To the course of the hunting moon
|
| In the wolf hour we sing our main hunter song
|
| Law is a forged word
|
| For the dark mob horde of revenge
|
| The train maintains the highest speed
|
| And the car offers up for slaughter
|
| Friends are no longer friends
|
| Enemies are all we see
|
| The loud cry of the informant
|
| Accompanies the hop of death
|
| Guilt and accusation are
|
| For us exactly the same
|
| Heads should roll here
|
| See our torches flame
|
| The clock is ticking, ding dong
|
| The night is long
|
| Bloodied, we sing our main hunter song
|
| Tick, thank you, ding, dong
|
| To the course of the hunting moon
|
| In the wolf hour we sing our main hunter song |