In the misty dawn of vernal paleness Men will wander 'round the barrow's stone Feeling guts of sudden winds and whispers Words of what the dead asserts to know Chills the gushing, blood of men With the carmine, blood of men In the thickened, blood of men Chills the gushing, blood of men Those who enter after dark will find this Torolv is not resting in his grave From beyond he drenches his surroundings Covering the ground outside his cave He will no let death contain his madness Bodies will be found on blood red ground Nature never knew such wicked badness Moor and waving heather will be drowned Chills the gushing, blood of men With the carmine, blood of men In the thickened, blood of men Blood of men