The wind carries the weathering of prey
In the tracks of a wild boar
Through freshly fallen snow, eat or die
In the forests there is no mercy
It is hunting rage that boils in the blood
It is the instinct that has taken over
A life for a life, The law is primitive
But a law for eternal time
Praedator
Hear how the wilderness calls to trial
Where hunting ground and eternity meet
Where the beast is set, there the wild one is felled
Where the arrowhead is finally wetted
There is happiness to shine to the string
To gain control over the arrow's flight
But that joy is not the greatest that is
Freshly quenched bloodthirst
It is the drive that makes one rapturous
Ave venator, Preadator
In the thicket of the forest, In the tracks of the prey
I feel the weathering of blood
Gods let the hunting be good
Praedator
What does the wolf know about pain and cruelty
What does the wolverine know about how he is raw?
He takes what he takes and what he leaves
Parties at The eagles and the ravens on
You who speak so civilized
Whatever you do that is in your power
He who was once born wild, can never be separated
From the instinct that drives to hunt
Ave venator, Preadator
In the thicket of the forest, In the tracks of the prey
I want nner weathering of blood
Gods let hunting luck be good
Praedator