Týr – The Rune

person Cuslifolder_openNexusaccess_time April 19, 2017

Cold seems to me your kiss from the ocean deep, in my sleep
Kin from all harm, raise the song to the mountains majesty for thee
And the sad and weary tales
I see you go south on the evening tide, end your fight
But were running out of time
Which are slipping through my hands
Now that millennium has gone
Of the subsequent events
Hold they nothing more divine

Lies my land like a rune that’s written by gods upon the

Futile attempts, you can’t change the way, of our day and age of heathen and Hel
Who is then this man who demands my scat
Here in pain

All the islands should be mine
Wield the axe and make them mine

Line my booth with cloth, black as ravens wings
Set the thing here and then
Ocean deep, so it reads, thou shalt not enslave thy kin, I

I’ve been living here from when I was born
I will rule within my time

Here in darkness
Here in decadence
And my heathen kin it was that found and then populated this land
Here in darkness with my silver bags, let them come in and take what’s mine
Swear this oath, I’ll keep my faith and I’ll keep my
Than the property of land
Line my booth with cloth, black as ravens wings
Down from the mountain, cries of an headless love, high above
Are what’s left of greater times
He whose mighty ancestors drove mine out of Norway to seek new lands
See to that these men are dealt as those mighty kings men that came before

warningComments are closed.