The grass is green, my sword lacks blood.
It wont be long before a battle’s flood;
Of men and horse, the charge will start,
Where many people get torn apart.
A distance sound: the battle horn,
The signal for combat is finally born.
Cries and screams as many fall.
Only a lucky few will get accepted in the hall.
Where champions go when they die,
Into the sky their souls will fly.
The clash of steel, the sound of war,
Our ancient norseman’s historical lore.
Watching my enemies fall with such great ease,
Our furry brings their strongest to their knees.
Surrendering to us means certain slavery,
Its much better to die with some bravery.