In the twilight of the wintry moon
They call to the spirits of the north
A sad, desolate cry through night
A prayer for their hungers end
They are the children of oblivion
Ungraced and eternal
The symbol of the natural truth
The purity of northland everlasting
Across the desolate ices capes
Their hordes roll on to glory
Driven by ancient blood lust
Their quest to feed unending
Scent of bloodstained tundra
Cascades over barren land
Woods have long since ended
Yet their hunt knows no end
In the shadows of the moonlight
They bay their call
For a return to the past
Their Hymn to Hinterland
Hinterland Eternal