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Four black wings beat in the morning sky.

The winds come from the north to ice us

with a frozen embrace.

They behold the world, in an eternal solitude.

For centuries in a yet forgotten sadness.

But the day of war is near.

Rome shall burn to ashes.

Ravens will command,

the hordes of the underworld.

Where is your immoral civilization?

Where are your values?

They rot in the landscapes of our ground.

Where our fathers rot to the sun,

eaten by the vultures of Sucellus.

By my honour... the black is the only colour

in this heart.

Hear me Allfather.

Why are we condemned?