Do ut res

On my way I go, where the children play.
On I go, hear the children play.
And I'm going home from a place so warm.
To the northern fields where the winter roam.

Goodbye , to all you Romans. I am going home.
Home to where the Norfolk play a barbarian tune.
Where the nordmanns roam the snow, and valkeries our forests.
There's trolls in these mountains...
Here the wind it blows, and the light is gone.
We roam...

Fair haired, fair skinned, but in our eyes a ferocity is felt.
Cause be them green, blue or ice, brown, dark or light.
In our eyes a nation lives
whom knows not but the bliss of blizzards, hide to cold and night to day.
The wind far up there in the north, and the mountain winds it speaks.