Warrior of the North

On the shore of the North,

The rain trickles down our faces,

Howling winds and freezing waters,

The most treachorous of places,

Still, we sail, we slay, we cleanse,

the true darkness in others,

Fueled on meat and mead

upon their tables we feed,

As we cut the throats of the protentious beings

so we can end their evil-doing,

At last we hear the mead brewing.

by vikingdrummer