| Old stones by the sun will be lighted
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| Summer’s longest day will begin
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| We’ll make a sacrifice to remind
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| The Gods and Goddesses for our win
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| The cheerful clang of the sickle is around —
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| Anticipating the pleasure of Gods
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| We’re making better our beautiful ground
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| Our native land spilling enemy’s blood
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| Hands to sun we have raised…
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| Fire of hearts and mood of Midsummer is reflecting in our eyes…
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| Druids gather in glade of the forest
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| Silently talking near stone altar
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| The scoured echo of the oldest stories
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| Is flying through branches to the Northern stars
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| «We're there… We’re staying on our Great land
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| With bowls full of a glimmer blood…
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| For you, the Gods, our open hearts and
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| For sun, its arrows through the clouds…
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| Between the elements our freedom
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| It’s time to glorify the crop…
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| Let’s fade everything we needn’t
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| And ask the win in future war!»
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| When spirits of the forest are dancing near the fire
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| The twilight will come to us from horizon’s line
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| The silence has enveloped the loudest someone’s crying…
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| And summer’s songs of birds and wind will recall in our mind
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| «The Gods! | 
| Take the gifts from our land
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| And give the goodwill for our tribe
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| We’ve sent in battle not one thousand
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| Their names by ice wind have been scribed…
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| No more our land will be another’s…
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| Our wish is enemy’s fast death
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| The Queen of Hel will waiting for them
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| When they are gone by icy breath…»
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| The northern night is closer; | 
| the longest day is ending…
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| Old stones are raying the heat like from entrails of Earth
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| And in the middle of the world named Midgard we’re standing
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| While in the bowl is impious blood of a christian girl |