Jurawolf (side project)

Welcome to the official page of the Jurawolf synth metal project !

Jurawolf is a synth metal project from Switzerland*, made by Lucius Barde. It was revived in February 2025.

*One album was produced in Hungary in 2018, but the project is exclusively Swiss.

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Lyrics

Anna in Chains

(Lament of Anna Göldi, the last Witch of Glarus)

Beneath the moon's cold, silver glare,
I linger in chains, a soul laid bare.
The stones of Glarus drink my tears,
As whispers call, stoking fears.

They claim my touch, a cursed flame,
My only crime—a servant's name.
Their lies rise high, a spiteful hymn,
Binding my fate on shadows' whim.

But I am no demon, no spectral face,
Just flesh and blood in a cruel embrace.
Let them come with their flames, their scorn,
From ashes, truth shall be reborn.

Le Loyon’s Last Words

(Based on the letter left by Le Loyon, the Ghost of Maules)

You tiny gnome, who writes with poisoned ink,
Your foolish words have pushed me to the brink.
You spread your lies like fire through the trees,
Yet fear the truth that rides upon the breeze.

Through shadowed pines, I walked with silent grace,
A ghost barely seen ---- yet found my place.
No chains of men, no weight of hollow laws,
Just whispered winds and nature’s quiet cause.

So take me down...
And clear the way...
But beware that ghosts don't fade away

Why do you rise -- up - against a harmless -
Being roaming -- in - the deepest forests ? --
Why don't you shout -- up - against those herds__
Of Goblins - smugg-a-ling - their forbidden herbs? --

'Cause fear is blind, and flames will chase the night,
You lit the torches, calling for a fight.
A hunt for ghosts, Middle Ages returned,
While real deceivers let the forests burn.

You trim the stems, as a good kind Swiss gnome,
Yet the seeds that fell, below ground they still roam
You claim to guard the paths ---- where children stray,
Yet turn your head as wolves -- still hunt -- their prey.

So take me down...
And clear the way...
So take me down...
And clear the way...

So take me down, and clear the way
But beware that ghosts don't fade away
So take me down, and clear the way
But beware that ghosts don't fade away

Why do you rise -- up - against a harmless -
Being roaming -- in - the deepest forests ? --
Why don't you shout -- up - against those herds --
Of Goblins - smugg-a-ling - their forbidden herbs? --

The Battle of Morgarten

Clergy:
"Bow thy head, ye dwellers of Schwyz,
To holy law that never dies.
Our land is ours, by God’s decree,
You trespass here with impunity!"

Swiss Chief:
"By whose hand did your claim arise?
This earth we till, these hills we prize!
Your gold may glitter, your church bells toll,
But none shall own a freeman’s soul."

Clergy:
"Beware the wrath of Habsburg’s might,
Their knights will come, their swords will smite.
Submit, lest ruin shall you find—
Defiance will be your kind’s decline."

Swiss Chief:
"Then summon your dukes, your knights of steel,
Our mountain hearts will never kneel.
The land we sow, the sky we breathe,
No crown nor cowl shall make us grieve."

Through shadowed glens and moonlit - lanes,
The Swiss advanced like whispered - chains.
The abbey’s wealth, its cattle, its store,
All fell to the daring of the rural poor.

A bonfire burned in the frosty - night,
A signal blaze of rebel - might.
No sermons spoke, no bells were rung,
Only defiance through the valleys sung.

Upon the pass where shadows crept,
The Habsburg knights in silence stepped.
Their armor gleamed, their banners flew,
A tide of war in steely hue.

But high above, in secret lair,
The Swiss had laid a deadly snare.
With halberds keen and boulders grand,
They turned the hills to a fighting stand.

A cry rang out, a deadly cheer,
As boulders crashed and knights knew fear.
The narrow pass, their gleaming pride,
Became their tomb, their fate denied.

From chaos rose the mountain cry,
“For Schwyz! For freedom, or we die!”
And when the dawn spread light and flame,
The Habsburg pride lay drowned in shame.

No gold, no crown, no knightly host
Could claim the hearts that mattered most.
At Morgarten’s heights, the Swiss were free,
A lasting bond of unity.

Their victory carved in time’s great scroll,
A tale of spirit, strength, and soul.
So raise the flag, and sound the horn,
At Morgarten, freedom’s flame was born.

The Siege and Triumph at Grandson

By Neuchâtel’s placid waters, cold,
A castle stood in days of old.
Its walls were stout, its towers high,
A bastion 'neath the Jura sky.

But doom approached with martial drum,
As Charles the Bold and his army come.
With banners bright and cannons grand,
He sought to crush this steadfast land.

“Yield your hold,” the Bold did cry,
“Or face your death, your cause shall die.”
The garrison stood with hearts resolved,
Their honor firm, their fate unsolved.

The cannons roared, the walls did shake,
The stones would groan, the earth would quake.
Yet still within, no fear took root,
They held their ground, the Swiss resolute.

But days grew grim, supplies ran low,
The defenders knew they’d face the blow.
With mercy pledged, they bowed their head,
And to their captor, Grandson fled.

Yet mercy came not, the Bold betrayed,
The gallows rose, the price was paid.
The Swiss defenders, hung and drowned,
Their cries of honor the only sound.

From Alpine peaks and valleys deep,
The Swiss awoke from winter’s sleep.
Their hearts inflamed, their banners raised,
They marched as one through mountain haze.

“Recall their names, our fallen kin!
For honor’s cause, we fight, we win!”
With halberds sharp and shields held tight,
They marched through day and into night.

The fields of Grandson soon they found,
Where Burgundian pride stood all around.
Their cannons gleamed, their horses pawed,
Yet fear was sown where Swiss men trod.

With measured steps, the Swiss advanced,
Their eyes ablaze, their halberds danced.
The Burgundian lines began to sway,
As terror turned the tide that day.

A shout, a charge, the foe did flee,
The lake bore witness to their misery.
The Bold’s great army, once so grand,
Lay scattered, broken, across the land.

The Swiss took spoils, the treasure vast,
A wealth unmatched, a victory cast.
But more than gold, they claimed their pride,
For kin avenged who bravely died.

O Grandson’s siege, thy tale still told,
Of treachery, courage, and hearts so bold.
In every stone and mountain hue,
The spirit of the Swiss shines true.

The Wolf of Yore

From slumber deep beneath the stone,
I rise again, no more alone. 
Through crypt and cavern, earth so cold, 
A spirit forged in legends old.

Once cursed to prowl with sharpened fang, 
Through alpine mist my howls once rang. 
But now reborn with no more growl, 
recovering your pride is my goal.

I walk among the mortal men, 
In halls of gold and grand amen. 
My voice refined, yet strong and sure, 
To tell the tales of times obscure.

O Alpine land, your past so grand, 
Of battles fought with steadfast hand. 
Where freedom’s cry from peaks did soar, 
And heroes' hearts knew fear no more.

I speak of knights, of shepherds brave, 
Who claimed their home from Habsburg's grave. 
Of alpine winds that whisper low, 
The secrets only seekers know.

In castle halls, by fire’s gleam, 
I weave the past into a dream. 
The Tell of yore, the oaths once sworn, 
By lakes that saw the dawn reborn.

Forgotten myths now rise anew, 
In twilight’s glow, with skies so blue. 
For I, the wolf, shall tell with pride, 
The songs that once the darkness did hide.

No more the beast of depressive nights, 
I wear the cloak of cultured lights. 
Yet in my heart the wild still thrives, 
A memory that still survives.

So gather close, lend me your ear, 
The tales of old draw ever near. 
And as the echoes gently swell, 
Remember well what I shall tell.