Oh elder man you speak of the ways
In which the four-winds talk
Behind your wounds that are bleeding light
The horses of Kin-Folk shine
Oh elder man you sharpen the axe
That will shake the Yule Fir-tree
The Glow in your eyes
Is shining Blue
Ancestral Blood
Pours through
Ancestral blood seeps up from the grave
In our native soil
And in the morning we will see it
Oh elder woman you cast from your lips
Enchanting blood of Runa
Within your bosom a Glowing Child
Of a Lord to come
Oh elder woman, this land of your father
Bearing fruit of your kind
This is the wine, bread and breast
Where the whitest of milk will fall
The whitest of milk will fall and fall
On our childrens children
On symbols of pride.
In which the four-winds talk
Behind your wounds that are bleeding light
The horses of Kin-Folk shine
Oh elder man you sharpen the axe
That will shake the Yule Fir-tree
The Glow in your eyes
Is shining Blue
Ancestral Blood
Pours through
Ancestral blood seeps up from the grave
In our native soil
And in the morning we will see it
Oh elder woman you cast from your lips
Enchanting blood of Runa
Within your bosom a Glowing Child
Of a Lord to come
Oh elder woman, this land of your father
Bearing fruit of your kind
This is the wine, bread and breast
Where the whitest of milk will fall
The whitest of milk will fall and fall
On our childrens children
On symbols of pride.