Sailing with their dismal vessels
Towards the Baltic Sea
Is the wooden prow appearing
Like a dragonhead in the fog
The cold wind blows over the shores
Like a dragonbreath
As the drakkar draws nearer
To the Northern coast
Back from a tragic battle
Far away in the unknown lands
Is the chieftain of the clan
Dead with the iron sword at his hand
The enemies' blade his pierced
The entrails of the strong Norseman
Breaking his wooden shield
In a torment of wrath
The lord is dead
The village is falling in a deep mourning
But no tears are falling
Only honour & pride ( are reigning in the hearts )
Now it's time to prepare the funeral pile
A monument for the leader, like a shadow at the horizon
Is the vessel disappearing in the heathen flames
His soul is rising to the paradise of the warriors
Raising the swords of the heaven
We're singing the funeral dirge
