A poem by Karlotta Imrichova
A Heathen heart heeds the call
when he hears his brother fall.
The Heathen heart will rise and fight
to defend his land with all his might.
A Heathen man will sing in glory
not hang his head and say he’s sorry
for standing up for what is true
as blood is red and skies are blue.
The Heathen heart defends his folk,
he does not hesitate or choke.
A Heathen mind in spirit is strong
for he knows the naysayers are wrong.
The Heathen Men are gathering now,
they sharpen axe and kiss their Fraus.
They brace for a battle just begun
Heathens will not cease until it’s won.