The clouds hang low, the storm will soon blow
The winds are cold, we've barely left home
Arctic waters are gray, nearly frozen solid
Priests give prayer, but most here are solemn
So far this Spring hasn't thawed the floes
If any of us fall, we die, everyone knows
Odin's ways keep us at war, we are his spawn
If this ship sinks, all of our corpses float at dawn
In the waves are a rhythmic motion
Tides are alive on their own
With freemen and thralls pulling oars
We need the winds to move us more
For to land upon Saxon shores
We are driven
This will be a great day, it is written
The Dane Law will welcome our arms
“It is better to live on the sea and let other men raise your crops and
cook your meals.
A house smells of smoke, a ship smells of frolic. From a
house you see a sooty roof,
from a ship you see Valhalla.”
―
