My axe sheds tears for those who have fallen,
Tears hewn from their very flesh,
As though they weep for their loss of life from Hel,
Their own eyes already taken by the ravens,
Proof to show Odin of our great victory here today.
A moonless night heralded our arrival,
The boughs of Yggdrasil hiding the light in the sky,
The cover of darkness worn as a pall about our longboats,
Silently we forded the river that long served as life giver to this village,
Instead now it served as the artery that brought poison to its very heart.
The village battalion was already succoured into sleep by the festival wine,
The day of worship to their Anglo-Saxon god leaving them drunk and dulled,
Unaware that they would awake to meet him this very day,
His own morbid symbol towering over them all,
The monastery a stark reminder to them to be good sheep under the shepherd’s watch.
Screams began to fill the night as the dragon’s breath licked their hovels,
The dry thatch the perfect stage for the flames’ hypnotic dance,
Panic spread through the darkness as they fled from their fiery homes,
Only to be met with the ice cold steel to cool their wretched flesh,
The screaming quickly turning into a crescendo of terrified gurgling.
When finally the men-at-arms made ready to oppose us they were met with horror,
The blood of their lineage staining the ground they once played on,
Eyes filled with anguish crying out mutely for their saviours,
The men’s cries of pain and sorrow the only elegy they will get,
For we vikingr leave no eyes open to weep for the dead.
Our weapons met in a symphony of angry composition,
The ringing metal taking the place of their church bells,
Tolling out a lament for the dead and those to follow,
The cries to their deity loud and clear to the rising red sun,
Yet only our gods appeared to be listening today.
A score I felled before my feet on this red dawn,
Sons, fathers, brothers, all beheaded by the swing of my axe,
No women this day though,
I leave it to the men with a taste for the rape of the feeble,
The blazing fire stirring memories in me of my woman’s flowing red hair.
Only one final defiance now remains,
We stand at the gates of the monastery,
Its gates showing welcome to all by god, now barred to our entry,
Golden riches being showered upon us from the tower,
The gaudy tributes for a god who preaches shunning the material for the spiritual, being used to buy mercy.
Would that we had mercy to barter with,
When the final bauble falls to our feet we gather it up and return fire arrows in kind,
Letting the dragon’s breath decide the test of these men’s faith,
The screams and prayers growing louder as the flames rise,
But only smoke appears in the sky.
We build pyres for our brave Einherjar,
Thirteen in all the be borne by flame to the shieldmaidens,
Carried triumphantly into the halls of Valhalla,
Mead aplenty to quench their battle weary thirsts,
Singing songs of battle among our heroes of old.
Setting sail from there leaves us with a heartwarming sight,
The sky raining the ash of friend and foe alike,
Covering up the crimson fields with cloaks of white,
A vision of home in our minds and hearts now,
Singing songs of glory as we row out into the home of Jörmungandr.
Though shield may crack and axe may break,
We sail these seas for lives to take,
Upon the Dragon’s back we ride,
With the might of Odin on our side,
As when Fenrir tore the hand from Týr,
We will fight on without any fear,
We fight for glory and for gold,
We fight to have our stories told,
Though our blood be spilled one day,
And valkyries come to take us away,
We’ll still sing this song in the Golden Hall,
Till Ragnarök comes to end us all.
Vikingr forever more!
