A sword of fire and an axe of cold
Vision of the Sibyl has foretold
Armies gather on the battle-plain
All will fall and Earth will die in flame
Here on the battle-plain
We will die in flame

On falcon's feathers soaring overhead
Choosing warriors among the dead
Twilight written in the runes of crones
Freya weeps upon her golden throne
Upon her golden throne
I'll wait for her alone
Call me unto your hall
Take me into your thrall

The battle rages, but they fight in vain
When all is done it must begin again

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