|
Down the slopes of death he rides |
|
The eight hooves pound like drums |
|
Darkness reigns the crumbling sky |
|
Invasion has begun |
|
Fields of flames greets his eye |
|
He smells the fear and pain |
|
Of dying men in agony |
|
It can drive a man insane |
|
All enemies flee his spear |
|
No bow, nor axe do harm |
|
All father rides out on fields of fear |
|
When Heimdal sounds the alarm |
|
But on the field waits his fate |
|
Foretold in ancient times |
|
A beast with sharp yellow teeth |
|
And hateful, burning yes |
|
Today, he'll draw his final breath |
|
The wisest god of all |
|
His son will avenge his death |
|
Iormundr's brother will fall |
|
He knows now what is to come |
|
No use to try and run |
|
What is to be, let it be done |
|
What is to be, let it be done |
|
He knows now what is to come |
|
No use to try and run |
|
What is to be, let it be done |
|
What is to be, let it be done |
|
Today, he'll draw his final breath |
|
The wisest god of all |
|
His son will avenge his death |
|
Iormundr's brother will fall |
|
Down the slopes of death he rides |
|
The eight hooves pound like drums |
|
Darkness reigns the crumbling sky |
|
Invasion has begun |
|
Down the slopes of death he rides |
|
The eight hooves pound like drums |
|
Darkness reigns the crumbling sky |
|
No more is the sun |
