Wolf & Hatred - Ulver

O Wanderer in this infernal Night

Believe not his Hate will spare thee

His prey shall be no one

But thee —

Who shall tremble when he is near

In foolish hope for shelter

And thou —

Whose bloode strong wine shall be

Thy Soule, his sacred Trophie

In vein he lets thee shed

Thy bloode in this Sea of Payne

Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends

Revealing: «The Wolf is he!»

Coldlie thy bloode shall flow

As streams through Graves below

God is not here, but death draws near

And secondes are O, so few

In a Nature twofold they shine

Beginning and End combine

Fool, thou art prostrate

By the raging eyne of his

Lifted upwards

Rapt in Moonshine