Thyrfing

I would wake warriors great
Summon warriors of the oak
High as a pine in the forest
Summon those who sleep
Wake those beneath the grass
Buried deep under fields
Under sacrificial graves
In the burning earth
Carve runes upon the horns
Stain them red with blood
We mumble our spells and sing our hymns
Filled with lust we drink
The mead so pure and strong
Proffered by smiling maidens
We praise the taste on our tongue
Mead blessed for us by Odin
My father he has promised
That glorious I'll become
Standing high in the stern