the first ballad of Viking Breath

The moon is high and the mists are low.

The gentle lap of the waves against the darkened shore

Is the only sound, then quiet and slow

The sleek craft, the smooth slapping of the oar

Are barely heard, and the music of the bard begins.

Their axes high their voices low a song of war they sing

Their deadly boats and raider kin are decorated with broken fins.

The dwellers of the unfortunate shore, the warning bell, begin to ring

In tune with the song of the Viking bards,

Their instruments of malice sharpened and refined.

The raiders reach the tortured shore and rain down death in deadly shards,

The musicians of death not far behind.

For we are Viking Breath,

We write the songs of life and death.