Crom Paroles

Sit upon the mountain top
Judging all that's mortal
Howling thunder from the east
Thrust the sword, not man nor beast
Crom

Sit upon the mountain top
Judging all that's mortal
Howling thunder from the east
Thrust the sword, not man nor beast
Crom

Life and death - the same
Conquering barbarian tribes
Sends you to your doom!

Under the sun, nowhere to run
No one to trust, you are alone
I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing
Rush in and die, dogs - I was a man before I was a king

Gleaming shell of an outworn lie; fable of right divine
You gained your crowns by heritage, but blood was the price of mine
The throne that I won by blood and sweat by crom
I will not sell for promise of valleys filled with gold or threat of the halls of hell!