Sunday night, twewlve weeks before winter,
the world is in a smoky haze.
Suddenly there appears a rider in the East,
brandishing flame.

CHORUS:
"I ride and icy stallion, fire at each end
and poison at the centre;
you won't hear my words
as I scream into the darkness:
his plans are like a firebrand,
his plans are like a firebrand."

His steed strains as he reaches out over the reins
and hurls his flame at the West.
The mountains dissolve in fire
and he races through them, screaming:

CHORUS.

He rides on into the further darkness
brandishing his flame like a spear
and below him there races his ghost steed
draping the night in fear

CHORUS.

Njal, beware and heed the words
which emanate from Hildiglum.