Riding Majestic Crests

From the highest summits Bitten by impetuous winds To valleys enshrined in snow The tribe rides elder paths The Sons of North Carried by their steed, nostrils fuming in frozen dawn Galloping from collars to crests Enfeoffed lords in a mortal world Carrying the banner of the ravens Masters of immaculate tops Living memory of Nordic lands Last keepers of the Heathen faith The proud hordes defy the one god, nothing can soil their ancient beliefs They gall the sky of their hoof, grazing heaven of their swords Their tribal chants exult such an anthem to the battle Protecting their fatherland, till' the snow be redden by blood Shadows of the ravens plane over the mount and valleys The gallop of the war horses will rumble loud once again