In the Depths of Black Hills

The gods take away the lives of warriors,

Choosing the very best ones.

Families are crying for the dead,

Farewelling their souls.

The haze is covering the tops of the hills,

The ravens are flying over them.

Cold wind blowing away

Ashes of burial flame.

Old wolf at the edge of the wood

Looks with his tired old eyes

At the celebration of glory

And the greatness of death.