Freya

A Sword of fire and an axe of cold
Vision of the sibyl has foretold
Armies gather on the battle-plain
All will fall and earth will die in flame

Here on the battle-plain
We will die in flame

In Falcon's feathers soaring overhead
Choosing warriors among the dead
Twilight written in the runes of crones
Freya weeps upon her golden throne

Upon her golden throne
We wait for her alone
Call us unto your hall
Take us into your thrall

The battle rages, bit they fight in vain
When all is done it must begin again