As the days grow shorter
So too do our odds
Of saving our Race
And honoring our Gods.

Nott's heavy blanket
Begins to take hold
As the only light left
Comes from the bold.

The wind sadly sings
With cold biting air,
You can almost hear
The cries of despair.

Our Folk plead for us
To be Wolves again.
To stand defiantly
As true Men of Woden.

What we must find today
Is an end to their sorrow,
A way to combat the dark
So we win our tomorrow.

It is time that our Gods'
Stark demands are heeded
As we give of ourselves
All that is needed.

Let us warriors prepare
For the rough times ahead
When the Sun turns Black
And the rivers run red.

Because in the end
It will be those who fight
That bathe this dark world
In Sol's radiant light.

May your sword stay sharp
And your heart ever true
As us brave Sons of Wotan
Do what we were born to do!