Warriors ride with spear and shield
under the banners of the eagle
In black winter days when shadows
rise to life in legends
And beneath high trees the ancestral
cults of nature gods are reborn
From father to son the tradition perpetuates
the noble blood which
came from the north
And with it the hidden
cult guised to God's eyes

Barbarian clans crown their
victories with arcane runes
Coming like a pack of wolfs
They burst into Christ's
land proud and arrogant
Heaven shook under the
Vandal tribes trot

Gothic folk, victorious sons of Gutton
A thousand nations surrendered their
lands under your sword's push

(...)With strenght of bear and a wolf's gaze(...)
The poet wrote of your gestes
That still echo in Nova Gotiscanzia mountains
With bravery, glory and heroism