Throne of the Southern Tide

(Hey-ya, hey-ya-oh, hey-ya-ho)
(Hey-ya, hey-ya-oh, hey-ya-ho)

From Kattegat's soil, the raven took flight
A young farmer challenging the ocean's might
He looked to the West, where the Sun meets its grave
And swore that new worlds to his people he gave
With timbers of oak and the runes in his hand
Ragnar Lothbrok reshaped all the land

The high walls of Paris beheld his decree
The king of the Northmen, a master of the sea
But fate is a rope that the Nornir will twine
In a pit full of serpents, the giant's decline
The Kingdom of Wessex then shook with his cry
How the piglets will grunt when they know how I die

Raven's feast for The longboat king
Ragnar's legacy on the salty wind
From a farmer's strength to an empire's throne
The fate of a dynasty forever known

Now Bjorn's iron will rides the wave of the south
Through the coils of the serpent, to destiny's mouth
The firstborn of iron, whom no blade could tame
The wide Mediterranean conquered his name
Farther than his father, his sails were unfurled
The heirloom of Lothbrok resounded the world

Now old and weary, with his land torn and bled
The arrows in his chest brought no terror or dread
High up on his horse, like a true God of war
His very last breath saved his land evermore
Though Ironside falls, now the myth shall arise
His name is engraved in the infinite skies

Raven's feast for The longboat king
Ragnar's legacy on the salty wind
From a farmer's strength to an empire's throne
The fate of a dynasty forever known

Father and son
At Valhalla's table as one
Skål
(Hey-ya, hey-ya-oh, hey-ya-ho)
(Hey-ya, hey-ya-oh, hey-ya-ho)