a sword of fire and an axe of cold   vision of the Sibyl has foretold   armies gather on the battle-plain   all will fall and Earth will die in flame   here on the battle-plain   we will die in flame      on falcon's feathers soaring overhead   choosing warriors among the dead   twilight written in the runes of crones   Freya weeps upon her golden throne   upon her golden throne   I'll wait for her alone   call me unto your hall   take me into your thrall      the battle rages, but they fight in vain   when all is done it must begin again