The Past And The Storms

Old tree, chilling wind
It remember, days of rains and suns
Gale and snow, the past is buried
Under the ground and funeral dust
Thousands of histories, carved on the old spruce's
Honour living in the memories
It won't die over the centuries.

Cemetery in the woods where the red sun dies
In the glare of blinding light
Grave covered by the mists
Cry from a far brings a mourning song
Under a bright moon, walked those who are
Buried but not forsaken
Blood shed under the night sky
These trees know the truth
Watered with blood of those who died last
Deprived of their rightful honor.

Forgotten village where the spirits dancing
On the black streets
Legends spoken in a whisper of those without a faces
Of those carrying the blade and fire.

Spreading the signgs of revelations
Spreading the poison for total red dawn
And a wind far from the mountains
Scatters the dust of the dead
Over the walls of black houses
Over the windows full of tears.

The clocks are silent, the candles are cold
Silence is a witness: witness and judge
The old tree is a symbol of dignity waiting for reborn
Hate divine and reawakening on the altars of sacrifice
By dust and times we walk through the paths
The paths of old wisdom.

We are the reborn age of dignity
Fuck the symbols of red fall
We are the knife the sword the sunwheel
Voice of shining white light
Without the sickle and hammer shrouds
Without talmudic rivers of slimes
Without fucking crescent moon whores
Without crimes of tora and bible
We are the legion of blaze! The wolf and eagle
Tribes of sword and rage
Tribes of oak and stone
Tribes of mountains and valleys
The dawn of creation and will!