Raised upon the meat of conflict
Earning our very breath by killing
We are the storm
Coming from the North
Our neighbors are the crops to cull
Instead of scythes we use swords
Ships rather than horses
Instead of crimes upon victims
Or the unwilling
It is our hands that lead the way
And our violence brings a harvest
We will never be forgiven
For we do not show contrition
We are the stalking wolves
And they are the herd
We are the children of Odin
Imagined by others as the villains
But they are throats waiting to be cut
We would not last long in our cold environs
Without their stocks of wool
Nor the goods their gold buys
If we find their lands of use
We might settle there
If we must we'll use force
For we are not fools
And we know the message of steel
It does not ask, nor does it offer
Compromise
Only death or victory
