Schlammschlacht

Threatening, the Germanic woods
Dark and cold since ancient times
Full of drops, secrets, and lights

Intertwined, woven in dead faces
Sweat drips, rain pours
All the soldiers must give their all
Pantsless, in Roman style
Filthy, exhausted, but without a beard
Knee-deep in mud they wade
Gathering closer and closer
Deep fear tightens in their throats
From what each one here feels

It seems alive, the oppressive woods
Through which now nothing echoes but fog and rain
A branch snaps, a mushroom glares
In the swamp, it reaches for you, and your soul wants it!
So the soldiers are frozen and powerless
Soaked through, the swamp has taken them
But: "Semper fidelis!" Always loyal, they follow Varus, their leader
Who in turn leads Armin, the Cherusker
Suddenly the gnawing fear of the woods
Turns into a crowd of people
As the Cherusker lets out a whistle

And the legions poke a hornet's nest
From the mud, the leaves on the ground and trees
Suddenly countless Germans foam
A scream like a thousand bears erupts
Only feeding the fears of the exhausted Romans
And already, from the sword, the blood flows
Pouring down in a roaring din
Soot-blackened Germans, all
Rush forth, camouflaged, to trap the convoy
Arrows and spears rain from trees and hills
As the ranks of Romans quickly flatten
But also black faces head to Valhalla

And blood and pain are everywhere
Heads and arms and hands rain down
Blood-red is the swamp of the woods in the end
And torn mouths and eyes
Twisted in death now gaze from the earth
Until the third night, the horror drags on
In the light of the torches, you see the women
As they rob the Romans, find the man
Crying, recognizing the beloved who didn't escape
Hardly does the morning mist make its way
When wolf and eagle are already near
Feasting on the endlessly flowing stream
Dead flesh now rewards their greed
Through the heaps of torn bodies
Riders slurp and dig
Pulling dead Cheruskers on stretchers

Weapons driven away, the greedy flee
So the fallen are piled up
And through flames of smoldering wood, they are destroyed
Only the Romans remain, nailed to trees, in the blood swamp
Sacrificed on altars, piece by piece
Their skulls and weapons offered to Wotan
In the sacred grove, under the cover of night
For a long time, the fires of souls smoke

Through which the soul is renewed
And far in Valhalla above
The Cheruskers praised themselves for a long time
How bravely they raised the Romans!
Quntili Vare, return the legions!