In Entrails Fortold کے بول

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