The flash of the axe, and the swing of the broadsword
The ringing of armour both piercing and bright
We've polished our shields and we've spurred on our horses
To fight till the bastards all yield to our might
On roan red as blood and on mare black as midnight
We fight that our land may belong to us still
Now the cry has been raised, and the horn has been sounded
Let's find out how many of them we can kill