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Bloodspill in the verdure, toils on the plain

Riding into sundown beneath the blackened sky

Traitors and cowards, we scorn with shield and claw

“Lo, death to tyrants,” is our battle cry

Battle in the high woods, blood on horse’s mane

Threshold of redemption under the red sun

Caledon weeps for ichor that has been shed

From Valhall to Heorot we drink what we have bled

Einherjer, ride with me

One with all-father on the wings of a valkyrie