A storm rolls in from the sea Covering the land with black thunder clouds Rain whips the ground at their feet As they come ashore in this foreign land Thunder brakes the silence Of fivehundred men assembled ashore Gazing through the misty rain At the mountain not a mile away So dark and silent it stands there The mighty AMON AMARTH Reaching for the cloudcloked skies So grim and fearful in might With the wind in their backs they start walking Decisive men of the north They strive through this darkened land With only mount doom in their sight The closer they get to the mountain The clearer their eyes can see A forest of one thousand spears awaiting Awaiting the battle that will be A cry of war emerges Echoes over the field Warriors run, like wolves up the sloaps Boldley charging the enemy lines With weapons so fearsome and sharp in their hands And shields of oakwood and steel They slit open stomachs and split skulls to the jaw Intestants cover the field The defenders are weak in this brutal war The northmen have power and guts A bloodshed like no one has seen here before None can escape their cuts Arrows with fire fly through the air Touching houses and shields The Vikings can feel victory is near As the enemy headlessly flees A gust of wind blows in from the north Clearing the clouds away As twilight falls and the stars come forth And the seawolves return to the bay Corpses lie scattered all over the field For the ravens to eat as they please The mountain is now left there behind As they sail with the first morning breeze
ashore, field, mountain, cloudcloked, boldley