Weljar - O wiedźmach

She traded offspring for amber rare
To the witch from the woods' snare
Mother cast away her hatchlings nice
Oh, may she choke on that nasty prize

He cut the father's and mother's breath
For spirits to let him see the spectral depth
When he sat by them in the dark of night
To settle with blood his gloomy plight


For gifts of strength and charming grace
To maintain peace within embrace
A ruler from sins seemingly purged
Needs entirely in blood submerge

Who will not bow before the old gran
Who will not kiss her wrinkled hand
Who forgets the debts owed with scorn
Is better off sleeping in graves forlorn


In sickness, wrath and envy
In sickness, wrath and envy
In sickness, wrath and envy
In sickness, wrath and envy
In sickness, wrath and envy
In sickness, wrath and envy
In sickness, wrath and envy
In sickness, wrath and envy

Come… Come… Come… Come…