Týr – The Rune

Wield the axe and make them mine
He whose mighty ancestors drove mine out of Norway to seek new lands
Who is then this man who demands my scat
Now that millennium has gone
Ocean deep, so it reads, thou shalt not enslave thy kin, I

See to that these men are dealt as those mighty kings men that came before
Line my booth with cloth, black as ravens wings
Futile attempts, you can’t change the way, of our day and age of heathen and Hel
Here in decadence

Down from the mountain, cries of an headless love, high above
Than the property of land
Of the subsequent events
Are what’s left of greater times
I will rule within my time
Set the thing here and then
Kin from all harm, raise the song to the mountains majesty for thee
Hold they nothing more divine
And my heathen kin it was that found and then populated this land

Lies my land like a rune that’s written by gods upon the
Line my booth with cloth, black as ravens wings
But were running out of time
Here in pain
Cold seems to me your kiss from the ocean deep, in my sleep
I’ve been living here from when I was born
Which are slipping through my hands
All the islands should be mine

I see you go south on the evening tide, end your fight
Here in darkness
Swear this oath, I’ll keep my faith and I’ll keep my
Here in darkness with my silver bags, let them come in and take what’s mine
And the sad and weary tales