We'll whet our swords on northern stone,
For war is craft we've always known.
A boy becomes a man, it's plain,
The moment he first grips the oar again.
Our banners snap in salt and spray,
On foemen's blood we stake our way.
We're sons of ice and raging sea,
From frozen roots grow flesh and bone.
We are the children of great Thor,
And praise grim Odin, nothing more.
While pale-grey Norns with threads so stark
Foretell the hour when skies turn dark.
Our only aid is battle's rage,
Our only shield — death's final page.
Our brothers wait in Odin's hall:
True heroes never truly fall.
No glory blooms without the strife,
It's sweeter to us than our life.
We fight for honor, fierce and free —
A berserker fights eternally!
Berserker
© Copyright: Кирилл Ликов, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126072806983
Свидетельство о публикации №126072806983
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