I go to bed dreaming in the starry light, of my Viking brethren living large, living right. Awoken by the crack of thunder bright, I rub my eyes to see Thor and his hammer in the night. His thunderous voice booms in my sleepy head: “Get outta that bed—there’s living to do before you’re dead!” I work at a desk pushing digital files, Eating kale chips and walking ten thousand miles. But Odin keeps yelling through my ceiling fan, “Where’s your longship, boy? Be a man!” I tried yoga once—just needed a breather, But Loki possessed my downward f’n dog neither. I spill my latte, I lose my zen, And Freya yells, “You call this livin’, then?” [Chorus – New Version] I dream of ale halls, axes and fights, Glory and guts and endless nights. I wake to bills, emails unread, But Thor still thunders, “You ain’t dead!” He flips my mattress, bangs his shield— “Find a fjord, son—claim that field!” [Verse 2] My wife packed lunch—boiled rice and beans, But my ancestors crave roasted wild boar spleens. Grand served me lutefisk—dear gods, the smell! Even Hel said, “Nah, that belongs in Hel.” I try to explain to my modern-day boss, Why I scream “Valhalla!” every minor loss. He says I need “HR intervention,” I say, “Only if HR stands for ‘Horns of mead and Redemption!’” [Bridge – Slow & Dramatic, building into absurdity] I see runes in spreadsheets, maps in my toast, My Roomba obeys me like some haunted ghost. I tried therapy, but the doc ran away, When I spoke in Old Norse for half the day… [Final Chorus – Big, Silly, Triumphant] So raise your goblets, toss your tie, Sing to the skies, let the gods reply! You can file your taxes or plunder a shore, But deep in your soul, you’re still craving a war. Thor still shouts in the shower stall, “Live like a legend, or don’t live at all!” So I sail my Prius to battle each morn… With a lunchbox, a tie, and a heart Viking-born. [Outro – Dramatic and Silly Spoken Word] “This is not a spreadsheet, this… is a saga.” “And your PTO form has been denied… by Odin.”
