Schlammschlacht [English translation]

Ominous, the Germanic forest

From time immemorial dark and cold

Full of drips, secrets and lights

Interwoven, entangled in dead faces

The sweat trickles, the rain trickles

All legionnaires must give everything

Without trousers, the Roman way

Defiled, exhausted, but beardless

They wade through mud that reaches to their knees

Gathering closer and closer still

Deep fear ties up their throats

Upon which every single one here senses

It appears to be alive, this nightmarish forest

Through which nothing sounds due to fog and rain

There a branch strikes, there a mushroom stares

In the swamp, it reaches out for you, and your soul wants it!

Thus the soldiers are chilled to the bone and without vigour

Everything drenched, three carried off by the swamp

But yet: "Semper fidelis!" Always loyal, they follow Varus, their leader

Which, on his part, is lead by Armin, the Cheruscan

Suddenly the forest's gnawing anxiety

Transforms into a throng of people

When the Cheruscan sounds a whistle

And the legions pierce a wasps' nest

Out of the mud, out of the leaves on the ground and on the trees

Suddenly Germanic people endlessly break out

A call like one of a thousand bears sounds

Which only nurtures the fear of the Romans that are deadly exhausted

And soon, dug by the sword, the bloodstream flows

Outpouring to the ground with thunderous noise

Every soot-blackened Germanic

Stormed forward in disguise, brings down the baggage

Arrows and spears rain down from trees and hills

As the rows of Romans nimbly flatten

But black faces go to Valhall too

And blood and pain is pervasive

Heads and arms and hands rain down,

In the end the swamp is red with blood

And torn mouths and eyes

In death now looking distortetly from the ground

The horror lasts until the third night

In the light of torches one can see the women

How they steal from the Romans, find the husband

Weepingly recognized the dearest one that didn't escape

When the morning fog flows

Wolf and eagle have already arrived

Refresh themselves with the stream that ran endlessly

Dead flesh now rewards their greed

Through piles of torn bodies

Riders rummage noisily

Dragging dead Cheruscans on biers

Exiled by weapons, the greedy ones flee

Thus the fallen ones are piled up

And destroyed by flames of smouldering wet wood

Only the Romans, nailed to trees, remain in the bloody moor

Sacrificed on altars, piece by piece

Their skulls and weapons offered to Odin

In the sacred grove, protected by night

Long the soul-fires keep smoking

Through which the soul is renewed

And far above in Valhalla

Long the Cheruscs praise themselves

How well they trained the Romans!