Noregsgard

A sturdy man from the farm
He followed the scent of pine
Up through the gray stone hill he carried
His stride was strong

Wrapped in the dawn
Under a purely Norwegian sky
His feet trudge sadly
Towards his goal up on the height

A weather-beaten hand grabs the sword
And cleaves the blue-tinged skull
His mouth twists in smoldering hatred
Enemies will fall

So he stood there on the lookout top
His eyes never resting
For he sought only one sight
But it became a cruel torment

There among Norway's woods and fields
The enemy was fierce
His grim mind would show them
That a Norwegian son has plenty of mettle

A weather-beaten hand grabs the sword
And cleaves the blue-tinged skull
His mouth twists in smoldering hatred
Enemies will fall

Norwegian son lost Noregsgard
To a face in the army
Proud he was when he returned
To cleave this sword