| III. Wolf & Hatred |
| | O Vandringsmand i een forbandet Nat O Wanderer in this infernal Night
Troe ey at hans Had dig vild skaane Believe not his Hate will spare thee
Hans Rov vild ey vaere nogen anden His prey shall be no one
End dig - But thee -
Der vild skiælve i hans vær Who shall tremble when he is near
I uselt Haab om at Huus er nær In foolish hope for shelter
End dig - And thou -
Hvis Blod skald blifve hans stærke Viin Whose bloode strong wine shall be
Oc Siæl, hans hellige Trofé Thy Soule, his sacred Trophie
Faafængt han lader dig gyde In vein he lets thee shed
Ut dit Blod i Smertens Sin Thy bloode in this Sea of Payne
Saa du som død ey Sofnloest kand Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends
Fortælde Frænder: "Ulven er ham!" Revealing: "The Wolf is he!"
Som Offer for Beistets Krav Coldlie thy bloode shall flow
Dit Blod vild rende koldt som Bæcl i Grav As streams through Graves below
Gud er ey her, men Døden nær God is not here, but death draws near
Oc hvert Secund som her And secondes are O, so few
Er undt dig - In a Nature twofold they shine
Skimrer i et dobbelt Skiær Beginning and End combine
Aff baade Liiv & Død
Fool, thou art prostrate
Rasende lader han Bliket binde By the raging eyne of his
Løfter dit i Maaneskinnet Lifted upwards
Rapt in Moonshine
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