| Strong oars crash to the waves,
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| Northern wind carries the ships,
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| Toward their home row grey-haired warriors,
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| Leaving strange lands far behind.
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| Grasping flock of ravens were circling
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| Under coverlet of night clouds,
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| Sleeping shore was covered, like with black wing,
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| With the shadows of the horrifying dragonheads.
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| Like a whirlwind we rode under crimson moon,
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| We didn’t count slain enemies.
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| By our force we have taken the riches and glory
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| Of turned into dust strange shores!
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| In scabbards rests now icy steel,
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| Sky has changed its crimson color.
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| Passed out of sight flocks of black ravens,
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| The holds are crammed with wines and coins.
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| Winter sun shines through the clouds,
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| Throws its ray on snow-covered fjord,
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| Icy strong wind rips the sails —
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| It brings our drakkars to the homeward shore.
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| Bound up wives with sons will meet us,
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| Troll will hide in mountain ravine,
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| With tongues of winter piles, reaching out to the sky,
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| The fest of Yule begins now!
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| Again fill be filled our bowls,
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| Foreign wines flow, like a river.
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| Drunkenness again will overcome our heads.
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| Gloomy singer, sing your song for us!
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| And through the centuries Scald’s strings will sing
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| Songs of our bold victories.
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| But the Gods carve again the Runes of War for us,
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| Their Spirit in us will never cease!
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| Again the sunset is colored with crimson blood,
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| Again we will leave our home for long.
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| The world will be shaken with our power,
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| Again we go to march for glory! |