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We come from the land of the ice and snow, |
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From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow. |
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The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands, |
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To fight the horde, singing and crying: Valhalla, I am coming! |
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On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore. |
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Ah, ah, |
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We come from the land of the ice and snow, |
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From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow. |
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How soft your fields so green, can whisper tales of gore, |
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Of how we calmed the tides of war. We are your overlords. |
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On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore. |
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So now you'd better stop and rebuild all your ruins, |
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For peace and trust can win the day despite of all your losing. |
