With all the strength that bursts from our sinews – It's the same old story again; When you see them, there’s something within you Makes you cluster like sheep to a pen. From the forest the guns start to rumble, From bushes, where hunters lie low. Claws scratch ice as wolves rush and tumble Living targets with nowhere to go.
Who'll come a’ hunting for the wolf, who'll come a’ hunting? Who'll shoot and be a man, some cub or suckling dam? As the beaters wave, the slavering hounds confront ‘em Blood on the snow and rows of fluttering scarlet flags.
They fixed the match, their servile lieutenants: So superior, so sure of our route; Bounds on liberty set with red pennants, With their rifles held steady to shoot! For the wolf cannot break with tradition: When as cubs in our lair we’d entwine, With our milk we conceived the ambition Not ever to cross the red line.
Are our paws and our jaws so extraneous? Our leader – so fixed in his mind! To permit these red flags to contain us Why don’t we break out of this bind? Wolves must not step over the border Thus my life blood must ebb in the snow And the one for whom I’m an order Lifts his rifle, his face all aglow.
I transgressed, stepped over the boundary For my life is worth more than their lies! Behind me, no longer around me, Come shouts of frustrated surprise. All the strength has burst from my sinews – But that old story changes today: I’m alone, my wolf-nature continues, But my hunters were robbed of their prey!