Naberg stood up, when at
Mannahemen's garden
The time of fire, the time of the sword, there was no strife
But where were the plagues of the bubonic plague
No one visited friends
No visiting priest
No one went to town
Without a lance and on horseback
In the original times they sang songs
For themselves and their fathers
Today only the songs
That will make tomorrow better
Songs for the next
No songs for the Best
Treachery and lies have found their place
In Midgard Jotnese's palace
A man walked calmly, safely
Proudly there between houses
He walked among people
He trotted bullied there among mice
Several hundred men
He visited every cold night
He was tall, tall and thin
And on his head he wore a hat
Lonely man he wandered
Across beech roots on a cold morning
He shook his head
Over the loss of men
For they secured a place
In a ufå dark tragic sky
For they wandered up and down
For they rotted in Hel's peace

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