The mourning self, center of all
The conqueror, weeping upon the throne
Seeing all, yet blind to the realm of dreams
Ruling all, yet deaf to the roars from within

A god of war assembling an army
A god of order, trembling in fear
The horse master breaches the branches
Riding as wisdom unfolds
The rune-wielder lurks in the shadows
Riding as the giants behold

A warrior's farewell to armors and spears
A shaman hangs from the gallows pole
Seeing all, close to the edge of reason
Ruling all, on wings above chasms of madness

An eye for the power and glory
An eye for the pain and despair
By the roots far below
The old one spoke
At the core of the earth

One shall seek
Eyes will be blinded
And truths will emerge
A flight for the thought
A flight for the memory

Du runer finn teikna og tydde stavar,
Mykje store stavar, mykje sterke stavar,
Som fimbul-tul farga og høge makter maksla
Og Ragna-Ropt skar
Veit du å riste dei? Veit du å råde dei?
Veit du å farge dei? Veit duå freiste dei?
Veit du til bøn dei? Veit du til blót dei?
Veit du å sende dei? Veit du å slakte dei?