Ulver - Hymn 3 - Wolf and Hatred - Текст песни

O Wanderer in this infernal Night
 Believe not his Hate will spare thee
 His prey shall be no one
 But thee -
 Who shall tremble when he is near
 In foolish hope for shelter 

And thou -
 Whose bloode strong wine shall be
 Thy Soule, his sacred Trophie 

In vein he lets thee shed
 Thy bloode in this Sea of Payne 

Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends
 Revealing: "The Wolf is he!" 

Coldlie thy bloode shall flow
 As streams through Graves below 

God is not here, but death draws near
 And secondes are O, so few
 In a Nature twofold they shine
 Beginning and End combine 

Fool, thou art prostrate
 By the raging eyne of his
 Lifted upwards
 Rapt in Moonshine