Texty: Darkwoods My Betrothed. Come Fimbulvetr.

The far north
Between the snowy falls
We stand - we think
The time that passed
...The times that are gone

For they reminded us
Of the times of glory... our pride
When our swords could drink
The blood of the weak

Now they're all gone...
Proud men have flown to Valhalla

Left behind are only memories
That hail us now...

We live under a shadow
In depression and woe...

There hasn't been dignity
For a thousand years...
There won't be... that's too much to ask
Come Fimbulvetr