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In Ships of oak on waves we sail,
The beach is filled with faces pale,
On the shore, the hour is near.
Drum and sword, spear and shield,
Steel and stones, skulls and bones,
Their blood is mead for the swords we wield.
Death to them, silver to us,
The sand turns red with every thrust,
Onward we go shields raised high
We come for battle and they must die.
Sword, axe, or spear in hand; We take their lives, we take their land.
~Jarl Ingvar Schildknacker~