On each summer solstice we weave the great iron tie
Between the past, the present, the future of our tribe
The older tell us the wars from the past
in the embered shining of the flames
and we listen to their words like the young wolves of a pack
nothing is more personal, now than the songs,
whispered by the spirits of our ancestors.

What can a few souls which burn in the mighty sun of the solstice
against the despair that our modern world raises in our hearts

But testify of what used to be, to be actual, to emphasize on our traditions
to ensure that future is maybe not condemned...

Communion in the shining light of our fires and in the recovered sun
Symphony of our pagan souls with mother earth
presence of the culture of European nations
living in osmosis with the eternal cycles of life
we were just a fistful, one day we will be an army
nights in Europe will be red because of our solstice's fires
which will enlighten the millions of children with pagan hearts
who will bring the light of their hope to the ancient gods
we're the seed carried through the ages
we wear the eternal fire, we are the sons of mother earth

The sun will rise again

What can a few men lost in the great night with their torches,
But set the world on fire and awake honour and true values
Keep on the fight for our identity with proud stresses
the sun will come with us in the fight for the revival of our tribes
we are the seeds carried by the forest's wind
lost in the sickening mists of our modern times
the flame mus still burn into our hearts
we will wear it 'till eternity...