Týr – The Rune

Here in decadence
Are what’s left of greater times
I will rule within my time
All the islands should be mine

Here in pain
Of the subsequent events
I see you go south on the evening tide, end your fight

Futile attempts, you can’t change the way, of our day and age of heathen and Hel

Hold they nothing more divine
Line my booth with cloth, black as ravens wings

He whose mighty ancestors drove mine out of Norway to seek new lands
Kin from all harm, raise the song to the mountains majesty for thee
Down from the mountain, cries of an headless love, high above
Lies my land like a rune that’s written by gods upon the
I’ve been living here from when I was born
But were running out of time
Swear this oath, I’ll keep my faith and I’ll keep my
Cold seems to me your kiss from the ocean deep, in my sleep
See to that these men are dealt as those mighty kings men that came before
Here in darkness with my silver bags, let them come in and take what’s mine

Wield the axe and make them mine
Set the thing here and then
Who is then this man who demands my scat
Now that millennium has gone
Ocean deep, so it reads, thou shalt not enslave thy kin, I
And my heathen kin it was that found and then populated this land
Than the property of land
Which are slipping through my hands
And the sad and weary tales
Line my booth with cloth, black as ravens wings
Here in darkness