The guardians of our fatherland, the symbols of freedom.
An ancient nordic pride, rulers of our native forests.
Gods of heathen nordic cultures above.
Beasts of snowy fields on their way.
Over the hills of freezing wind.
Through the woods of blinding mist, following the lights.
To the empire of Allfather.
To his great halls of heroes.
The shape of a wolf against the moon.
Hundreds of howls in the night, night of blackness.
They are the fangs and ears of Wotan.
Beasts of the coldest winters, guided by the flames, high up in the night sky.
Down from the mountains they descend, one by one.
By the roots of Yggdrasil tree they gather.
Gathering for one and Allfather!
Wolves of the snowy fields.
Awaken the sleeping heathen gods!