The frost tries to reach us
 with its [bad word]  cold hands
 the cold witheness hurts our eyes
 and we still march with wind in the face.
 We follow the trace of blood in the snow
 yesterday we burnt two villages
 we killed women and children
 heads out of the bodies of priests
 we impaled on our wooden socle

 The blood of hideous monk
 is still getting blacker on my axe
 their temple burnt
 and we fed a fire with their corpses
 my brothers are marching silently
 the great frost turns their hearts to ice
 the warm blood will bring the life back to their bodies

 Another christian village is near
 those who escaped showed us the way
 by the blood from their wounds
 we must deal them a deathblow
 before wolves get them
 on the horizon behind us
 the black smoke appears on the sky
 on the hills, full of trees
 wolves observe us
 they´ll leave the hills and follow us
 as soon as the day is over