| A storm rolls in from the sea
|
| Covering the land with black thunder clouds
|
| Rain whips the ground at their feet
|
| As they come ashore in this foreign land
|
| Thunder breaks the silence of five hundred men assembled on shore
|
| Gazing through the misty rain
|
| At the mountain not a mile away
|
| So dark and silent it stands there
|
| The mighty AMON AMARTH
|
| Reaching for the cloudcloaked sky
|
| So grim and fearful in might
|
| With the wind in their backs they start walking
|
| Decisive men of the north
|
| They stride through this darkened land
|
| With only mount doom in their sight
|
| The closer they get to the mountain
|
| The clearer their eyes can see
|
| A forest of one thousand spears awaiting
|
| Awaiting the battle that will be
|
| A cry of war emerges
|
| Echoes over the field
|
| Warriors run like wolves up the slopes
|
| Boldly charging the enemy lines
|
| With weapons so fearsome and sharp in their hands
|
| And shields of oakwood and steel
|
| They slit open stomachs and split skulls to the jaw
|
| Intestines cover the field
|
| The defenders are weak in this brutal war
|
| The northmen have power and guts
|
| A bloodshed like no one has seen here before
|
| None can escape their cuts
|
| Arrows with fire fly through the air
|
| Torching houses and shields
|
| The vikings can feel victory is near
|
| As the enemy head-lessly flees
|
| A gust of wind blows in from the north
|
| Clearing the clouds away
|
| As twilight falls and the stars come forth
|
| And the seawolves return to the bay
|
| Corpses lie scattered all over the field
|
| For the ravens to eat as they please
|
| The mountain is now left there behind
|
| As they sail with the first morning breeze |