Amon Amarth - Amon Amarth

Текст:

A storm rolls in from the sea covering
the land with black thunder clouds,
rain whips the ground at their feet as
they come ashore in this foreign land.

Thunder breaks the silence of
five hundred men assembled ashore,
gazing through the misty rain
at the mountain not a mile away.

So dark and silent it stands there,
the mighty Amon Amarth.
Reaching for the cloud cloaked skies
so grim and fearful in might.

With the wind in their backs they start
walking, decisive men of the north.
They strive through this darkened land
with only Mount Doom in their sight.

The closer they get to the mountain
the clearer their eyes can see,
a forest of one thousand spears awaiting,
awaiting the battle that will be.

A cry of war emerges,
echoes over the field.

Warriors run like
wolves up the slopes,
boldly charging the
enemy lines.

With weapons so fearsome and sharp in their
hands and shields of oakwood and steel.
They slit open stomachs and split skulls to
the jaw, intestines cover this field.

The defenders are weak in this brutal war,
the northmen have power and guts.
A bloodshed like no one has seen here before,
none can escape their cuts.

Arrows with fire fly through the air,
touching houses and shields.
The Vikings can feel victory is near
as the enemy headlessly flees.

A gust of wind blows in from
the north, clearing the clouds away.
As twilight falls and the stars come forth
and the Sea Wolves return to the bay.

Corpses lie scattered all over the field
for the ravens to eat as they please,
the mountain is now left there behind as
they sail with the first morning breeze.