[Admin Moderator]

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

- but in this case will make an exception.

[50mm]

Ah, ah,
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
from the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.

The hammer of the gods
Will drive our ships to new lands,
To fight the horde, singing and crying:
Valhalla, I am coming!
On we sweep with threshing oar,
Our only goal will be the western shore.

Ah, ah,
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
from the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.

How soft your fields so green,
Can whisper tales of gore,
Of how we calmed the tides of war.
We are your overlords.
On we sweep with threshing oar,
Our only goal will be the western shore.
So now youd better stop and rebuild all your ruins,
For peace and trust can win the day
Despite of all your losing.