King of the northern lands
holding an axe in his hands
on his head a frozen crown
gazing at the sea with a frown
Set to defend against another raid
blood shall stain his shining blade
he is descendant of a warriors' line
his thirst for battle knows no confine
The wind blows shivering cold
he first fought in his youth, now he's old
the armies of his enemies charge
his realm with war he shall purge
Valkyries fly upon the battlefield
the outcome of the fight is sealed
ready to enter Valhalla he stands
the end 's closing near he understands
His axe is broken and so is his sword
he has no regrets, no final word
snow is falling turn red to white
let the darkness fall, live to see a new light.
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