Svartsot — Jagten song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Jagten" by Svartsot.
Lyrics
Når vinden buldrer i vinternatten, men skoven er stille
Da er det bedst at holde sig inde bag lås og slå
Var dig, var dig
For den vilde jagt
Når vinden hyler I nattemulmet på mørke heder
Og julebluset I askedyngen på arnen ulmer
Da kan man høre to hundes grøen, en fjern en næmer'
Så si’r de gamle «Nu rider følget, nu starter jagten»
Var dig, var dig
For den vilde jagt
Når hestevrinsken og hovslag høres I nattens tomhed
Sæt stål I døren og spjæld for gluggen, søg ly I halmen
For da kan flokken dig ej forfølge og volde skader
Men ve den vandrer, den ganger ene ensomt sted!
Jep!
Stygge er jægersmændene, svare og sorte som døden
Grumme er de sorte hunde, grimme, store og bredøjed'
Sorte er horsene de rider, sorte er bukkene de rider
Gru de hvileløses ridt, gjaldene færdes de igen
Når vintervinden uvented vender, skal du være varsom
Og hører du hovslag og tæller otte på hersens ganger
Da kan du vide at jagten kommer og kræver ofre
For med den drages en tid med ufred, din død til følge!
Var dig, var dig
For den vilde jagt
Lyrics translation
When the wind rumbles in the winter night, but the forest is quiet
Then it is best to stay behind lock and key
Was You, was you
For the Wild Hunt
When the wind howls in the night murmur on dark heaths
And the Christmas blouse in the ashes on the hearth smolder
Then you can hear the growl of two dogs, one remove one beak'
So say the ancients " now the entourage rides, now the hunt starts»
Was You, was you
For the Wild Hunt
When the hestevrinsken and hoof blows are heard in the emptiness of the night
Put steel in the door and damper for the glug, seek shelter in the straw
For then the flock will not persecute you and cause you injury
But woe to him that walketh! he multiplies in a lonely place!
Yep!
Bad are the hunters, answer and black like death
Grim are the black dogs, ugly, big and broad-eyed'
Blacks are the horses they ride, blacks are the goats they ride
Dread the ride of the rest, and they go again
When the winter wind unventted turns, you need to be careful
And do you hear hoof blows and count eight on Hersen's steed
Then you may know that the hunt comes and requires sacrifice
For with it is drawn a time of strife, your death will follow!
Was You, was you
For the Wild Hunt