Týr – The Rune

Set the thing here and then
Are what’s left of greater times
Than the property of land
Now that millennium has gone
Of the subsequent events
Who is then this man who demands my scat
Futile attempts, you can’t change the way, of our day and age of heathen and Hel
Wield the axe and make them mine
Here in pain
Kin from all harm, raise the song to the mountains majesty for thee
He whose mighty ancestors drove mine out of Norway to seek new lands
Cold seems to me your kiss from the ocean deep, in my sleep
Line my booth with cloth, black as ravens wings

Ocean deep, so it reads, thou shalt not enslave thy kin, I
Down from the mountain, cries of an headless love, high above

See to that these men are dealt as those mighty kings men that came before
I’ve been living here from when I was born
All the islands should be mine
And my heathen kin it was that found and then populated this land
I see you go south on the evening tide, end your fight
Here in darkness with my silver bags, let them come in and take what’s mine

Lies my land like a rune that’s written by gods upon the

Here in darkness
Here in decadence
I will rule within my time
Swear this oath, I’ll keep my faith and I’ll keep my
But were running out of time
Which are slipping through my hands
Hold they nothing more divine
And the sad and weary tales

Line my booth with cloth, black as ravens wings