- cifra
A Sword of fire and an axe of cold
Vision of the sibyl has fortold
Armies gather on the battle-plain
All will fall and earth will die in flame
Here on the Battle-Plain
We will die in Flame
In Falcon's feathers soaring ouverhead
Choosing warriors among the dead
Twilight written in the runes of crones
Freya weeps upon her golden throne
Upon her golden throne
We wait for her alone
Call us unto your hall
Take us into your thrall
The battle rages, bit they fight in vain
When all is done it must begin again
