One Throat for the Many

Bo_the_Mighty1

Uthgar

Bo_the_Mighty1

Viking folk, death metal, folk metal

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The field lies still, the ravens wait,
Two hosts stand locked in iron hate.
Their herald lifts a shield turned red:
One man from each, the living and dead.
I look to brothers left and right,
Bjørn holds his guts in dying light,
Young Ketil bleeds from fingers gone,
Three hundred souls I must not wrong.
I step alone into the ring,
Mud sucks my boots, the cold winds sting.
Their champion comes, great Hrothgar Pale,
Eight feet of death in bone-braided mail.
He grins through teeth like broken stone,
I bare my own and match his tone.
The circle closes, rain bites skin,
Two wolves, one fate, the fight begins.
Axe meets shield, my shield is cleft,
Spear finds his thigh, no mercy left.
His blade bites shoulder, mail tears wide,
Hot blood and cold rain side by side.
We cast the hafts into the slime,
Draw knives; now truth, now killing time.
He drives me down, knee on my chest,
Blade seeks my eye; I will not rest.
I bite his wrist to cracking bone,
His knife falls free, we fight alone.
We slip, we rise, we fall again,
Two statues carved of mud and pain.
His thumbs lock hard around my throat,
Black tunnels close, my vision floats.
I feel my brothers’ burning stares,
I will not die while they still breathe air.
My thumbs slip under mail and gorget,
Find the great vein beneath his target.
He claws, he tears, he cannot break,
I twist; his neck begins to shake.
I lean in close so only he hears:
“Tell Harald Two-Axes we kept the cheers.”
His eyes go red, his army moans,
I crush the life from throat and groans.
He slumps; I rise through mud and flood,
Lift high his head by beard and blood.
One heartbeat still; the world holds breath,
Then my brothers roar the song of death.
(War-cry: four lines, shield-pounded, twice only)
ONE THROAT FOR THE MANY!
ONE THROAT FOR THE FREE!
ONE THROAT FOR THE BROTHERS
WHO STILL STAND WITH ME!
They do not wait for king or call,
They charge as one, they charge through all.
The fight was done, the day was won,
Yet still they run, my wild sons.
I seize his axe still warm and red,
Laugh loud enough to wake the dead,
Shoulder torn, heart full of flame,
I follow them and scream my name.
(War-cry again, louder, final)
ONE THROAT FOR THE MANY!
ONE THROAT FOR THE FREE!
ONE THROAT FOR THE BROTHERS
WHO NOW CHARGE WITH ME!
And then only steel, and mud, and joy.

2303/7500

The field lies still, the ravens wait, Two hosts stand locked in iron hate. Their herald lifts a shield turned red: One man from each, the living and dead. I look to brothers left and right, Bjørn holds his guts in dying light, Young Ketil bleeds from fingers gone, Three hundred souls I must not wrong. I step alone into the ring, Mud sucks my boots, the cold winds sting. Their champion comes, great Hrothgar Pale, Eight feet of death in bone-braided mail. He grins through teeth like broken stone, I bare my own and match his tone. The circle closes, rain bites skin, Two wolves, one fate, the fight begins. Axe meets shield, my shield is cleft, Spear finds his thigh, no mercy left. His blade bites shoulder, mail tears wide, Hot blood and cold rain side by side. We cast the hafts into the slime, Draw knives; now truth, now killing time. He drives me down, knee on my chest, Blade seeks my eye; I will not rest. I bite his wrist to cracking bone, His knife falls free, we fight alone. We slip, we rise, we fall again, Two statues carved of mud and pain. His thumbs lock hard around my throat, Black tunnels close, my vision floats. I feel my brothers’ burning stares, I will not die while they still breathe air. My thumbs slip under mail and gorget, Find the great vein beneath his target. He claws, he tears, he cannot break, I twist; his neck begins to shake. I lean in close so only he hears: “Tell Harald Two-Axes we kept the cheers.” His eyes go red, his army moans, I crush the life from throat and groans. He slumps; I rise through mud and flood, Lift high his head by beard and blood. One heartbeat still; the world holds breath, Then my brothers roar the song of death. (War-cry: four lines, shield-pounded, twice only) ONE THROAT FOR THE MANY! ONE THROAT FOR THE FREE! ONE THROAT FOR THE BROTHERS WHO STILL STAND WITH ME! They do not wait for king or call, They charge as one, they charge through all. The fight was done, the day was won, Yet still they run, my wild sons. I seize his axe still warm and red, Laugh loud enough to wake the dead, Shoulder torn, heart full of flame, I follow them and scream my name. (War-cry again, louder, final) ONE THROAT FOR THE MANY! ONE THROAT FOR THE FREE! ONE THROAT FOR THE BROTHERS WHO NOW CHARGE WITH ME! And then only steel, and mud, and joy.

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