Furor Teutonicus

The moon

lets proudly glisten the warpaint

and spikes

the knights

they stand

over there

watching in the dark

are fearless

while they think

That could be

the last beautiful night.

Be willing to die and to kill

the swords, axes and shields

are shining dreadful in the moonlight

then they raise their fists and scream

their warcry

Furor Teutonicus

The horde blows the enemies

the swords are drilled into the bastard

Vyšlo na albech