Our pagan ways will not die
From our fist the North unites
Cross and God we defy
They shall fear our battle cry

Gather warriors
The raven calls
White Christ's followers
Will kneel or fall

Ready your sword
Axe and spear
Let God's lambs
Bleed out in fear

Just like rats
They swarm our lands
Cross at their neck
And book in hand

Foolish idol
Feeble minds
To no honors
They fight and die

We call there
Odin
We call there
Tyr
We call there
Freya
Gods of war

From the soil of the North we are born
Pagan heart will beat ever strong
We answer their God's weak demands
With fire in our hearts and sword in our hand

Crows gather
To pick the bones
Fallen brothers
And butchered foes

Tonight we drink
From skulls of foes
Upon a pile
Of Christian bones
We call there
Odin
We call there
Tyr
We call there
Freya
Gods of war

From the soil of the North we are born
Pagan heart will beat ever strong
We answer their God's weak demands
With fire in our hearts and sword in our hand