Here are the two released albums of mine, done under the pen-name "Winterblade." They are National Socialist Pagan, and I will tell you right now, they are extreme and unapologetic. If you don't like them, please don't complain, because it won't lead to anything constructive; this is just my style. If you do, well, good for you! I'm currently working on a "concept album," and after that I'm doing another standard album (writing mostly whatever I want in a loosely themed fashion) that's going to be, hopefully, far worse than anything you might read here. So, enjoy! BTW, the Russian poem is, I'm told, odd for Russians, but it gets the point across, so if you know Russian, enjoy that, and if not, Google actually does a pretty decent job with it. As you might guess, the two albums are labeled within bunches of stars, while individual poems are just separated by lines. Fun fact: The first album was written first, and then I got the idea of separating them by albums later. That's why the second album has a more coherent theme than the first.

The Ice of Ragnarök

The end of life

Black warriors from the North
slayers of the universe
destroying all our enemies
slaughtering the worthless ones.

Burning this useless Earth,
now you see, our time has come
end of the old age,
now a new Aryan reign.

Useless pigs slaughtered with the sword,
howling death, burning world
endless fucking pouring blood
your war for a better world.

See the death riders on high
blackness fills the hellish sky
murder for a higher cause
to sit in the holy Valhall's halls.

Nature burns, to live again
once destroyed, much is gained
the filth is executed in the streets
traitor families brought to their knees.

Treacherous women burned on stakes,
sacrificed to Ygg above
those who betrayed their holy race
will sit with Hella below.

Blackness is the fucking sun,
blackness is the holy one
blackness is the damned, burnt Earth
blackness was my soul from birth.

Now this planet is destroyed
all that did not join us died
the fence-sitting pigs, concerned with only their gold
they took Helway's road.

Burned alive, at the stake
the war is done, sunlight breaks
through the clouds, high above
only left the chosen ones.

New, holy Aryan dawn
now we see the truest sun
now the Christian plague is gone
Sieg Heil for our Aryan dawn.


You are our future

Do you know what it means to be Aryan?
Do you know your noble name?
Do you have any respect for your ancestors
and what they gave up for your gain?

Do you know the god you worship?
His arrogance, evil and hate?
Do you know how hard your ancestors fought
to save us from a Christian fate?

Do you know the torture, murder and lies
spread through Europe by Crusader scum?
Do you know what your ancestors did
to keep our holy myths alive?

And now, look at you, pathetic swine-
Aryan youth should be full of life!
But you sit doing drugs
and conversing with the lesser ones.

Tell me why it's always been the North
that to culture has given birth.
Tell me, if we're all equal, why
in Africa is there no accomplishment so high?

Tell me why you hate your race,
when you use its accomplishments every day.
You even see this text because of your race
and then you turn and spit in your ancestors' face.

The worthless do not deserve our pity,
but for you it's not too late:
Turn around, fight for your blood
and save yourself from your fate.

For war is coming, and coming soon
and you must choose a side.
Either you will fight against your own people,
or into victory with us you'll ride.

Either you'll say that your own people
have no right to exist,
or you'll take up arms with us,
and save your culture with an iron fist.

So stand up, Aryan youth,
and fight for what is right!
Take up your arms, and fight with us;
fight for the true light!


Desecrate the holy god; slaughter his sheep

The forces of evil are gathered here
-not Satanists, this is TRUE FUCKING EVIL.
For we are not here to cry like little children over fake Baphomets,
or whine about the Devil because we like to rebel
-we are here to DESTROY YOUR GOD
We do not submit ourselves to any fake gods
-we SLAUGHTERED Satan, and took over hell.
And thus we are evil, as your false church defines it
-and let us take pleasure in the title, as the world's enemies!
And thus begins our tale...

A gathering of Hell on a nearby hill
15 psychopathic murderers at arms!
Sent from Valhall, to slaughter your life
and burn the church to the ground!

Gasoline is poured,
fools trapped inside
they will burn by our rage.

Runic Galdr is spoken by the leader of the pack,
before torches are taken to the walls
of the house of God,
of the halls of deception.

The flames rise high - a tribute to YGG,
the terrible one, who sent us for you.
You are wanted in the halls of gods,
for you have much to answer for.

And thus you are driven out, as your children shriek,
for it is meet us or die!
You are lined up in front of your burning dreams,
as the leader selects who shall die.

Your women and children are taken with us,
the rest are all gunned down,
for the women will bring us the next generation,
and the children will be raised to be proud.

Disgusting blasphemies against god,
magick, and killing, and blood.
We are not afraid of your fake god
- we deny your Holy Spirit!
We deny the truth of Christ,

This is our story,
the story of the North,
warriors of truest dark.

Your lives belong to us,
your minds belong to us.
We are your new masters!

We are what you fear,
you know your death is near,
we are by the path on the highway.

We await you with arrows,
we await you with swords,
we await you with your death.

This war is coming, this black and wonderful war
-RAGNARÖK is its name.
The blood will pour and flow,
and seeds of death shall sow,
and nothing but purity shall remain.

Now listen very carefully,
for this story is for you,
for the idiot who doesn't fucking care:
There are only two sides,
in Ragnarök, this war:
Us, and those who shall DIE.

Your lives belong to us,
your dreams are all ours.
Your life is a privilege that won't last.
For when W.O.T.A.N. comes knocking,
you'll know your fate is sealed;
and your death will certainly not be fast.



In the northern woods
where snow abounds
death abounds
life abounds
there rests a dark spirit
as cold as the air around him.

Spirit of many made as death of one
his death is and is not
dead and alive
he is waiting for his death, or is it his birth,
so that he may live, or maybe to die.

Wonderful and terrible
life-filled and lifeless
awaiting the renewal by blood
awaiting the renewal by death
this sad spirit demands to die
this sad spirit starts to cry.


The northern snows

Were they really here
or was it just our desperation?
Did we really rise that high
or was it just an unrealized aspiration?

A desire to survive,
a desire not to die
a desire to be great again;
that was nurtured by them.

Or was it just our desperation,
an unrealized aspiration?

They rose with greatness,
pride and glory,
their banners high and mighty made us
and o'er the whole world was told their story.

Or was it just our desperation,
an unrealized aspiration?

They made paradise on this Earth,
surely of another world.
They gave our race a brand new birth,
and showed us our full potential unfurled.

Or was it just our desperation,
an unrealized aspiration?

Did the pride they not show?
Did the seeds they not sow?
Was the Earth not made a better place
just to see our saviour's face?

Were their dreams all but in vein?
Were the deaths all but meaningless pain?
Will we not defeat our enemy
to rise again into glory?

Was it truly mere desperation?
Nothing but an aspiration?
Was it truly mere desperation?
Nothing but an aspiration?

The northern snows fall over their graves,
the world forgets the blood they gave,
but we remember, in order to save
our race's glory from its grave.

It is the truth, when I tell you now
that the Reich lives on; it's still as proud.
Its citizens live in a spirit-land
awaiting the worthy with an outstretched hand.

Be this spirit an astral realm,
be this spirit only our minds,
they live on either way as well;
the Holy Reich, it never dies...

...and the northern snows fall...


Possession by evil

It is you
you are just a lonely Aryan youth
you read the words of evil
of truth
and you begin to sweat
your heart beats faster
for you feel yourself coming around to a new way of thinking.

You have been taken over by the spirit of fact
learned the new way, the way of Nature.
No more are you a useless, pathetic slug,
but now a fucking monster.
Now you are possessed by evil, for the dark is true.

And as you realize that the world is upside down
you are filled with terror:
For evil is not evil, but right,
and right is not right, but evil,
and as you know that all you've been taught is a lie,
you come over to the dark (or light?) side.

Fear not the dark
fear not the evil
for the evil is what is right.
Lied to all your life,
led to believe a filthy lie.

You learn the truth
you shed the light.


Your death

No friends
no life
no love
you must die.

Lack self
lack spirit
lack heart
you must die.

You realize that no one around you cares
all you get are mocking stares.
You breath is shallow, fast and cold
your heart's an icy, frozen stone.

Fuck the fact that you could have a purpose,
fuck the fact that you needn't be worthless;
no one could possibly understand your pain,
because no one's ever felt this way.

The coldness all is closing in,
you know this sorrow is no sin.
Give in to the sweetness of this death,
I will help you stop your breath.

You pick the razor off the floor,
you'll be free forevermore.
You think of all your friends and cry,
because you are about to die...

...irrelevant; they could never understand.

Take your final breath,
savour it while you can,
for a few moments from now
you'll never breathe again.

Your suicide is the only way
you can't stand another day
your life is worthless and so always will be
raise the blade, and move with me.

Take the blade to your wrists
feel the terror; it persists;
I help you with a pressing slash,
your blood covers the walls in a flash.

Feel the sweetness of the pain
you've nothing to lose and all to gain.
Slit your other icy wrist
I know, death you must not resist...

..fade into the wonderful nothing...

Grovel, worthless, on the floor,
weak and meaningless, useless whore.
You gave in to the fucking death,
while people are dying with no rest.

Why the fuck did you need to die?
In your race did you have no pride?
Gentle reader, learn from this disgrace:
Race is all you have, and all you need is race.

War Speech

Nordic lands

Frozen forests
deep in the north
Ymir's clouds
drift in the sky.

Blankets of snow
cover the frosted ground
as all of Nature
begins to die.

The Northlands' call
to their people is loud
we command the frost
and power of blood.

Bring the lightning
from Mjölnir above
White snow cleansed
of racial mud.

The frozen peaks
of the mounds of Norway;
the green, rolling hills
of Ireland's light.

A winter so cold
mountains so mighty
beautiful death
comes in this night.

Sorcerer atop a frozen peak
Runes laid out before him.
He calls on the gods to give him sight
and seeks that which he wishes to know.

Runic magic, Runic calls,
spells of magic of Sacred North.
Frozen Runestreams weave the world
changes carried on the snow.

So know the freezing, holy North
know its howling call.
Your death in my lines is become art
and Rune wizardry my all.

Skaldic, whirling, howling ice
it stings your beliefs and life,
but when the truth is become known
you'll know that I was right.

So stand yourself afar a-north,
and love the freezing snow;
forests upon the mountainsides,
life abounds which you cannot know.

And in the sky, the Northern Lights
permafrost in the ground.
Your heritage is your inheritance,
its meaning so profound.

So remember your ancestors and their war
remember the ancient strife.
Become a figher within the Runes
and bring us our new life.



power and might;
all these are in your blood.
Can you not smell the call?

Runestreams living in thy veins
they make you your own all.

You cut your finger, and take this blood
holy inheritance from thy folk.
Pour it into Runic molds
cut into bits of Oak.

The blood is sacred in many ways
and this is only one:
Its Runic power; its magic might
into holy shapes let it run.

It is sacred in a second way
this I surely know:
Thy blood continue's thy folk's life
to thy progeny it will go.

Yea, to them it will carry
your ancestoral magic and pride.
Teach the children to understand
the holiness of what is inside.

The sanctity of the blood is sure,
and thus you are to keep it pure.
The holy fluid you have inside
can never be replaced; with you it shall die.

And for this reason it is, my friend
that children are the holiest things.
Bring them, sacred, into this world;
it is for this your blood sings.


From the frozen Earth

A scream
a howl
a dying moan.
From the frosted pits it comes.

No one hears it
no one cares
and this raises the beast's hate
its evil rage.

A rotting hand breaks through the Earth
and it's in Europe.
This is the hand of a thousand dead generations
their final revenge.

The apathetic
the useless
the worthless
will all be fucking DEAD.

The corpse of EUROPA arises
with an almighty, thundrous roar.
The dead beast of the darkened winter
ready to destroy the entire planet
the fucking worthless.

And I'm on its side.
I rise with this terrible beast
in a sound of rage
a torrent of hate.
I am the essence of hate;
the frozen sword of murder
poetry of death.

Fire sweeps the world
burning it
annihilating all who stand in our way.
We don't give a damn about their excuses
their stories
their lies.
They had their chance. Now they will die.

Storming towns
churches burn
death abounds
but it's not enough;
the thirst of our hate will never be quenched
until every last one,
every last rat,
every last subhuman fucking traitor who sold our race
is lit on fire in the streets.

And as the last traitor burns
begging for mercy it will never get as it burns and its filthy blood soaks our boots,
the sky opens, and light comes about us;
Ragnarök is won.

And you are dead.


Silence and Death

The silence is horrible
the silence tortures me
when I cannot speak
what's truly inside of me.

A tomb is it like
inside my life
with no outer contact
all is secret.

The death, it is like
a pestilent disease
killing my soul
a foul graveyard breeze.

The silence is a horror
within which I live my life
yet silence must I keep and have
to keep me free of strife.


Fuck you

The title says it all...


The Face of the Moon

His rays shone upon the Earth
a god high above,
as if he were some astral rider
in Yggdrasil's branches, as a dove.

The keeper of the sun he is
when Sol sleeps below,
and a magic sign to us
for what we'd wish to know.

He holds the key to secret lore
but hides it very well.
Only the wise and knowing ones
can know what he can tell.

Under the sign of Runic marks
in a field in the night
the Pagan masters stand about
under Mani's light.

They weave their magic to gain his wisdom
and learn what he doth know,
to gain advancement of the folk
and the seeds of glory to sow.


За Славу Родины

С силой тысячи стран
идут они в бой.
Слава Европы,
любят народ свой.

Вечно неся любовь
к роду своих людей.
Ничего не боятся,
Белая смерть теней.

Под знаменем арийцев,
с делом Правды,
маршируют они гордо
за победу свободы.

Герои народа,
каждый их любит.
Маршируя смело на войну,
их службу сильно ценят.

Ценят из-за того,
что неоценима она.
Самый важный труд -
сохранение народа.

В Валхалл уходит смелый воин,
чтобы рядом с Алфадером сидеть.
Валькирии их в Асгард приносят
чтобы своё место в холле героев им занять.

Руны на стенах,
как в древних местах.
Языческая революция по всей стране,
за нашу религию старых дней!

Помни жертвы своих предков, арийский человек. Слава и Зиг.


(Спасибо Зловеду, Славянской Библиотеки, за некоторые исправления текста)

________________________________________ ________

The War Speech

"Your best consolidation
comes from the certain knowledge
that your true death will come
but once your family is executed."

So, hope you enjoyed that. If not, oh well! Good day and frith to you all either way!