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Description
The fell drumming of my heart,
Edged me closer to the quay-side,
Drawn to a lonely place, to sit and contemplate.
When my eyes were torn from the moment,
And saw a ship come sailing by.

The prow was long and ended in a
Figurehead of a great Wyrm,
Snarling at a foe.
The Viking-ship then rowed by, the sound of the oars beating on the water like drummers,
Sounding the executioner’s knell.

The Bowsprit split the water ahead,
Speeding the boat towards the mist,
Great bards and their chronicles,
Had once told of this sight, the old memories came,
Of war and peace of life and death,
The Vikings rode to war.

Of Byrhtnoth and the Saxons,
The heat of the August sun,
A thousand years ago, upon a thousand necks.
The Black waters of the river,
Tolled down below the quay.

The Vikings took their place,
Tryggvason lead them to,
The massacre of Byrhtnoth
And his 200 men.

The Cries of death ricocheted
Through my head,
The drop of axe-blade, sword and twang of bow,
Were chained in ancient history, but now
They freshly ran amok inside my head.

The Warrior picked up his sword,
And shouting battle-cry,
Brandished the weapon and charged his Viking foe.
The helmeted man fought the swordsman,
And as the blows exchanged,
The warriors then stood dying in the land of the living.

The thought perished with the sight,
For the ship had passed the quay.
Into the fog of time, the mists wove their bands,
I stood a thousand years from then, and paused in deep thought.
Then carried on the way back home,
Where the shadows wait…

Description
The fell drumming of my heart,
Edged me closer to the quay-side,
Drawn to a lonely place, to sit and contemplate.
When my eyes were torn from the moment,
And saw a ship come sailing by.

The prow was long and ended in a
Figurehead of a great Wyrm,
Snarling at a foe.
The Viking-ship then rowed by, the sound of the oars beating on the water like drummers,
Sounding the executioner’s knell.

The Bowsprit split the water ahead,
Speeding the boat towards the mist,
Great bards and their chronicles,
Had once told of this sight, the old memories came,
Of war and peace of life and death,
The Vikings rode to war.

Of Byrhtnoth and the Saxons,
The heat of the August sun,
A thousand years ago, upon a thousand necks.
The Black waters of the river,
Tolled down below the quay.

The Vikings took their place,
Tryggvason lead them to,
The massacre of Byrhtnoth
And his 200 men.

The Cries of death ricocheted
Through my head,
The drop of axe-blade, sword and twang of bow,
Were chained in ancient history, but now
They freshly ran amok inside my head.

The Warrior picked up his sword,
And shouting battle-cry,
Brandished the weapon and charged his Viking foe.
The helmeted man fought the swordsman,
And as the blows exchanged,
The warriors then stood dying in the land of the living.

The thought perished with the sight,
For the ship had passed the quay.
Into the fog of time, the mists wove their bands,
I stood a thousand years from then, and paused in deep thought.
Then carried on the way back home,
Where the shadows wait…