We crossed the North Sea, over the submerged Doggerland
Forty healthy men and women, armed for war, and focused
Our task was to land silently, swiftly march to Saxon shores
And kill the villagers, and burn the buildings of the villages
So that the next series of ships, waves of the next invaders
Could land closer to the populated cities and fortified towns
And burn them as well, and light the shores with the inferno
With the final wave of ships landing, crushing the defenders
And by doing so, we leave Britannia in the control of Danes
None of our first wave lived to see the results of our invasion
None of the second wave survived, but destroyed their targets
Third wave succeeded, by the strategy, pointed the last wave
Forward, nothing was stopping the Northmen, from victory
I write this from Valhalla, and I remember the cries of war
The drums pounded and beat, the roars of screams of anger
Accompany the Saxons to death, and Northmen to their fate
The loss was counted as necessary, the tribe leaders satisfied
I watched the deaths as I was pulled from the field, to speak
The slaughter helped no one, as violence only lingered more
Saxon shores polluted by blood, burnt ships, burnt villages
All Doggerland's ghosts watched in horror, over the harvest
For nothing, as dead floated, some in armor, upon the shore
