A Sword of fire and an axe of cold

Vision of the sibyl has foretold

Armies gather on the battle-plain

All will fall and earth will die in flame



Here on the battle-plain

We will die in flame



In Falcon's feathers soaring overhead

Choosing warriors among the dead

Twilight written in the runes of crones

Freya weeps upon her golden throne



Upon her golden throne

We wait for her alone

Call us unto your hall

Take us into your thrall



The battle rages, bit they fight in vain

When all is done it must begin again