In Entrails Fortold

Harsh Winter, dry summer
Barren fields, arid rivers
Dead fatherland...

The sun reflects on the steel
of the sacrificial knife you'll feel
Now you will die for the glory of our gods
Now you will die for the future of our folk
You are tied down to the stone
The knife cuts to the bone
Streams of warm blood flow from your veins
The gods will show us another way

Hostile tribes, treacherous guides
Dense woods, swollen rivers
A new fatherland?

Your throat is cut over the bowl
The Norns decide over your soul
Now you will die for the glory of our gods
Now you will die for the future of our folk
Your entrails are ripped out of your body
The gods will lead on, by this sacrifice
Streams of warm blood flow from your veins
We're out to destroy Rome, whatever it takes