Green fields far as eye can see,
There, is where I want to flee.
The elders went, and came back too,
Because the skrælings made them fools.

Now we ride the waves’ steeds,
In hope to make known of our deeds.
We’ll send word for men to join,
To gain in mass honour and coin.

The years go by, and still we stay,
Up on the hills is where we lay
Steads made of wood and farms of gold.

Defend our homes and fight each day,
Between the steads, a path we fray,
We will stay here, let it be told !


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