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.: T Taunusheim Nebelkämpfe
Taunusheim

To all the people,
Never heard about the place that we call home.
To all the ignorant,
Never saw the chain of mountains we are from.

To all the vagrants,
Never wandered through the secret path.
To my auditory,
Never felt the spirit of the cold wind,
That tells his tales and nothing less.

Into the deep the fog is creeping,
To where the trees stood once before.
The brook is forcing its way down,
Obliged the slope and nothing more.

It saves its inhabitants by the wooden wall, which
Will never fall. This is the land Taunusheim.
Believe me there,
In former times the kings were proud to be.

Where warriors knew for what they had been fighting.
For the most beautiful maiden and the highest tree.
When at night Manis brightness is the only lightning.
Taunus the land of the wooden mode á

Taunus the home of the deer
Taunus the ravens eyrie á
Taunusheim is what we feel
There was and is and will ever be the trust in ancient gods.

The trust in honour,
Strength and wisdom.
The trust in ourselfs.
Where the essence arises of what youre listening.

Through the darkest path of wooden labyrinths
The oldest ghosts still wander,
Terrifying all the living,
That dare stay alone at night.

If you think about ancient tales and their antecedents,
Then you should stop and recognize,
That they still rest in nebular.
Into the deep the fog is creeping to where the trees stood once before.

The brook is forcing its way down,
Obliged the slope and nothing more.
It saves its inhabitants by the wooden wall,
Wich will never fall.

Taunus the land of the wooden
Mode á Taunus the home of the deer
Taunus the ravens eyrie á
Taunusheim is what we feel


6. Followed By The Raven

Followed by the raven,
By rain, by wind with might.
Followed to the mountain,
To Raven-Forest-Ever-Night.

Raven the unknown being,
The mighty beating wings,
Black eyes are always seeing,
The real and unreal things.

The spirit of the black bird,
Knows to fly between water and sky.
The spirits of the black birds,
Are screaming from the halls of valhall.
Look up to the snowy forest,

Which is to see in the great white hills.
Flying down a creature to the frozen lake,
Croaking loud it is singing his hymn.
Fog is stroking meadows and the trees,

No more living are now to see.
The gliding raven is looking to his fellow,
The gods called him Munin.
Night by night the ones flying to north and south,

The other to east and west.
Odin is sitting on his wooden throne,
Hoping they will come back.
No one could ever take his greatness,

So often they had tried.
They called him bird of death
And tried to seek his might.
But they never reached their aim,

He's still what he had always been.
The bird of strength, the bird of wisdom,
The black bird of the north.

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