Riding through the forests of ancient trees, I see.
The cold air reaches my skin, I feel.
Ships have begun to set sail, I see.
My heart grows cold if I stay here, I feel.

Down through the woods, I ran.
The aroma of fires burning, in the air.
The sight of smoke rising, into the sky.
The feeling of christian blood, on my hands.
Soaring high across the sky, where the ravens fly.

From my belt I grasp
this knife from my side.
Piercing through this book
from which tells lies.

Dragon ships sail across the sea.
Hearing the cries of the warriors.
Hailing Odin for a safe voyage
across the black dying waters.

On the hill he wanders,
watching over his children.
Deprived of our homeland, we ponder
setting sail we must find new land.

The horns of the farewell are blown
To the ships I must go.
The winds are my sorrow.
Casting warriors to a world unknown.

Walking down the pathway towards the ships
with my sword in hand
and shield abroad.
Hail Odin, God of the Northmen!

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