The wind is coming over the wood
Blowing through the hair of the old warrior
Hills are shining under the rising sun
His back hurts a lot today
But now he is standing between his men
His tribe he created in better times
Now he has to defend this area
He devastated in his glory youth

The fate of the Normans was passed
They decide, who will die
Death has been cast in everybody's soul
If you still have one

A horn is roaring, the battle begins
Like thousands of thunders
The men attack the enemy
With no doubt Odin is waiting for
All warriors who will die in his name
With Met and youthful virgins
He greets them in Valhalla
With no exception

His son, gored by the enemy's spear
His wife, burning cause of that oil
And burning arrows, they hit
Everybody in his clan is bleeding
"Where the hell is the ally
I've called for our guidance?"
The old man screams, in deadly rage
Killing, burning, hate is coming up

In an ecstasy of blood he is
He can't feel any pain
The power of ten werewolves
Is running trough his veins
The old sword gets sharper
He is fighting with no mercy
Faster, harder than he ever fought
Faster, harder than he was ever taught
With greetings from the dead world and
A smile on his face he walks through the lines

So he fought, until everybody died
"The surviving enemies escape!", but
There is not more than the number of his sons
With blood in their faces they won
His old heart is beating slower
He breaks down, falls into his brother's arms
With proud he has defended his tribe
With hate he killed the danger

Now the old warrior is dying with proud
He opens his mouth to say his last words:
"Odin has sent greetings for enemy and me
Greetings from the dead world."