In winter now, we make our stand,
our siege upon this ground.
And with our thousand ships abroad
we enter in the sound.
Afraid are we to meet our death
as we face our many foes.
We shall not pass this way again, I fear,
but that’s the life we chose.
To death and honor we have vowed,
to save our sons and daughters,
as we the ones who shan’t return
head with guns to coffers.
I am the smallest voice unheard
in this, the mighty battle,
as with my whispered voice I gasp
some idle thought or prattle.
These words in air I mentioned then
caught up in breeze on high
and became our message to the king,
then shouted to the sky.
With armament we have conferred
with enemies of old,
and with this final battle cry,
we storm their keep in cold.