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