Cold wind stirs the Weser shore
A call went out, “Jäger to war”
Heinrich Böse raised the line
With green and pride they marched in time

No promise made of glory’s fame
Just duty sworn, not wealth or name
A hunter’s soul, a city’s will
In foreign lands, they march on still

Shadows of Bremen, lost to the years
Marching through smoke, through blood and tears
Though history closed on a chapter brief
They stood as flame against the thief

Through mud of Saxon, fields of fear
No trumpet rang for them to cheer
Yet courage found in brother’s breath
They held their ground in face of death

They never carved the victor’s stone
But loyalty they made their own
With flint and eye, with coat of green
They vanish now, but once were seen

Shadows of Bremen, in fog and dusk
Their names now echoes, faint and hushed
Not for conquest, nor for crown
But for the oath that held them down

A snare drum rolls where silence grows
The Weser sighs where no one knows
Yet if you listen with the dawn
You’ll hear them still—they march, they're gone