Playing With Gods

Let me tell you this tale of lords

Who came from remote lands

To steal the sacred lance

To the ones born by frost.

They were waiting for the nightfall

When wolves slept, the stick of sway

Was snatched from its room

But the winter saw what they had done.

And the wind blew towars the shining wisdom well

Where the supreme fighter was keeping watch...

So they were destined to die at dawn

When the early rising horse touched the sky

And it lighted up their haunt.

Then he went hunting for the midnight thieves,

Guided by his ravens, throughout the nine worlds,

Attracted by the smell of fear just like worms.

And a dull caw was the encounter sign

Between the hunter and his prey.

The morning clouds began to cry,

And his anger became unstoppable,

The fighter rushed the intruders group,

And a lightning crossed the tears.

Thousands of bits of flesh and blood

Remained on the battlefield.

And the storm let the calm by...

And he took again what him was (made)

And each bit of their entrails

Were spread along the southern lands.

Being condemned to be conquered

And annihilated.

By the great fighter sons

Who should show for ever more

The price of playing with their gods.