Hauch wird Sturm

En vind fra norden, en vind fra sjoen
en vind fra kulde´s hjerte
en vind som raser, en vind som grater
en vind fra erindringen´s morke

Die bleiche Hand in der Flut
das Pferd der Tiefe bebt
hüte dich vor Ymir´s Blut
denn aus diesem Hauch wird Sturm

Stillhet pa sangen´s skjar
for na renner skalden´s mjod
Grimne kledt seg i falken´s dragt
og bredde armene i stormen

En gang rodde falken over solen
over vann som bolget seg
med hostvinden kommer en sang
og Mime apner oyene

Die bleiche Hand in der Flut
ein Arm der haltlos greift
hüte dich vor Ymir´s Blut
denn aus diesem Hauch wird Sturm

Breeze becomes storm

A wind from the north, a wind from the sea
A wind from the heart of cold
A wind which is raging, a wind which is crying
A wind from the darkness of memories

The pale hand in the flood
The horse of the depths is shaking
Be aware of the blood of Ymir
Because this breeze becomes storm

Silence at the cliffs of the song
For now the skald´s mead is running
Grimnir dressed himself in the garments of a hawk
And widened his arms in the storm

Once a hawk rowed over the sun
Over waving waters
With the autumn storms comes a song
And Mimir opens his eyes

The pale hand in the flood
An arm that grips without hold
Be aware of the blood of Ymir
Because this breeze becomes storm




	Hauch wird Sturm En vind fra norden, en vind fra sjoen en vind fra kulde´s hjerte en vind som raser, en vind som grater en vind fra erindringen´s morke Die bleiche Hand in der Flut das Pferd der Tiefe bebt hüte dich vor Ymir´s Blut denn aus diesem Hauch wird Sturm Stillhet pa sangen´s skjar for na renner skalden´s mjod Grimne kledt seg i falken´s dragt og bredde armene i stormen En gang rodde falken over solen over vann som bolget seg med hostvinden kommer en sang og Mime apner oyene Die bleiche Hand in der Flut ein Arm der haltlos greift hüte dich vor Ymir´s Blut denn aus diesem Hauch wird Sturm Breeze becomes storm A wind from the north, a wind from the sea A wind from the heart of cold A wind which is raging, a wind which is crying A wind from the darkness of memories The pale hand in the flood The horse of the depths is shaking Be aware of the blood of Ymir Because this breeze becomes storm Silence at the cliffs of the song For now the skald´s mead is running Grimnir dressed himself in the garments of a hawk And widened his arms in the storm Once a hawk rowed over the sun Over waving waters With the autumn storms comes a song And Mimir opens his eyes The pale hand in the flood An arm that grips without hold Be aware of the blood of Ymir Because this breeze becomes storm