Lo the hunter of the northeast realm

Tooth for totem, and beast for helm

Descendants of the last neanderthal

Climbed our fathers the cliffs of the mountains of Ural

Their blades were bronzen, long and never dull

Bound for hides and for the taking of skulls

Through the centuries we have endured

On the path of the hunter that prepare us for war

We take trophies of the dead

So be careful not to lose your precious head

This is ancient, holy ground

By the Kurgan Mound

With Scythian recurves upon dragon wings

The red-haired asket brought the line of kings

Sarmatian mothers nurtured royal blood

And in Kainuu their children ascended to gods

Thule's winter branded eye and skin

Þjazi's eyes watched over Etunaz kin

Chud and Saka became Vinoviloth

The Cwenas, Winnili, the Saxon, the Goth

We take trophies of the dead

So be careful not to lose your precious head

This is ancient, holy ground

By the Kurgan Mound

We take trophies of the dead

So be careful not to lose your precious head

This is ancient, holy ground

By the Kurgan Mound

We take trophies of the dead

So be careful not to lose your precious head

This is ancient, holy ground

By the Kurgan Mound