Tyr Styrisvolurin
And whoever reigns these cliffs, did not defeat the
wind
They held the tiller when the storm broke loose
Steer into the wind, shouted one and united they
pulled the tiller, but all in vain
The course has been set, carved in stone
And are we satisfied when the tale is told
And does your ship advance regardless of what you want
They fought over the rudderless tiller
And still we hold the tiller as we
Think we are free, thrallborn unconsulted so
We all drift on the graveyard field
In desolate halls, about distant mountains
Drenched and weary by the northwestern
storm, and the winds rages in Midgard
To Asgard where the Ash stood, like the
threads of life then flapped in the breeze
We all drift on the graveyard field
In desolate halls, about distant mountains
And plains, knowing what goal we are capable of living
And destiny draws slowly, we drift to meet it
We all drift on the graveyard field
In desolate halls, about distant mountains
Well aware of the course of destiny but it is
comforting that choice is before us
Countless your possible courses, but
discomforting that the choice has been made,
only one course
The course has been set, carved in stone
And are we satisfied when the tale is told
