Rumbling thunder craks the sky,and rain starts pouring down.Lighting strikes a
cold bright light,upon the blooddrenched ground.
The sword play is hard,and many falls,steel bites the sharp in flesh,and upon a mountian, towering tall stands the messenger of death.
Five horsemen in armour bright,waiting in the flashing light,looking down upon the field, where vikings fight with axe and shields.
On stallions black as night,with eyes burning red,they ride with thunder to the fight,deliverance of certain death.
A warcry loud as HEIMDAL´s shorne,echoes across the land,enemies who hear it freeze to the bone,friends of doom proudly stands.
They ide faster than the wind,with lighting speed they strike.Black ravens follow where they´v been, to feed from those died.
With power they vield their swords,as the ride down fleeing men.Sending them to hell´s dark court, to never come back again.
The warriors ride once more,to the mountian from which they came,Once sent by gods of war,and they never return in shame.
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