Winter Forest

Deep down in the woods, a man walked lonely in the dark,
He respected Mother Nature, he was a true pagan in his heart.
The chilling wind tousled his hair and fondled his face,
Brother Wind, why are you scratching my skin with your nails?

He heard the chant of the wolves, lovely song to his ears,
If he could cry, he would broke out in trist, bitter tears.
Now he couldn’t, he was just sorrowful and lonely,
He was the last pagan in the Land, he was alone, like me.

He touched the trees, their bark was cold and seemed lifeless,
He felt the eternal suffering of the great wilderness.
He felt the ancient power of Mother Nature in his heart,
His body was in flames from the blazing pagan blood.

The winter wind carried primordial melodies among the trees,
To sing with it, to chant with it, that was his last wish.
Watching the shining stars in the dark night, he started to sing,
Resting in peace for eternity, the everlasting death can bring.

His lips moved slower and slower, the wind froze them,
He sank on his knees, and slowly laid down then,
His body was frozen, he saw nothing but darkness,
The soul left this dimension, the body laid lifeless.

The ancient song echoed in the gloomy mist,
A threnody for the great, dying paganism:

„Oden, great father, this night I die,
Farewell Mitgaard, now I go up high.
In Valhalla, sharpening my sword, I will wait,
At the world’s end I will fight in your name.”

Now we are one with the Gods, one with the wolves,
One with Mother Nature, we are the heart of the woods.
Our lore will never die, no it can’t! It will live forever,
The Aesirs in our heart, fighting as one, together…