Once upon a time here on the plains of Pohjola
there dwelled a heathen people almost forgotten by now
Known as northmen, they furiously defended their kin,
thus being those who the baptised never recognized

They conquered and plundered, they held to their honour,
victoriously they advanced with no plans of retreat
But even one more evil did think of the same;
on the island they encountered an enemy once known

They never stood back at a threat
but grabbed their axes granted by gods
Yet grown in strength, their foes had decided
once and for all to crush them to the ground

There was a page to turn in the legends
of the battles against all plague
For it's in vain to accomplish honour
if failing to experience death

in white their blood now frozen

In the deep of the waves lies now their reign -
flame once so proud now dead, yet their shame
shall the vanquisher forever bear:
no sunken honour may rise for them

Behold the throne for there now sits the king of wrongful deeds,
the shepherd of such hungry beasts, not less a beast himself
But people submitted to them shall never disappear;
in the past long gone we can not forsake what in our hearts dwell

And time, it has ended