The Blood on Stångebro

In autumn’s mist by Stångån’s flow, where blood would stain the earth below. A kingdom split, a kin betrayed, the ground ran red; the price they paid. Karl, the Duke, stood fierce and proud, against his nephew's foreign shroud Two banners flew, one faith, one crown, a war-torn land, where peace broke down. Oh, Stångebro, where shadows fell, where tales of swords and sorrow swell. A battle born of pride and pain, where brothers fought in blood and rain. A bitter clash of faith and kin, where neither side would truly win. Sigismund came with sword in hand, To claim the land, to make his stand. From Poland’s shores, he sought his claim, To halt the Duke and stake his name. The cannons roared, the soldiers cried, by Stångå bridge the warriors died. With armor torn and banners flown, a nation’s fate was overthrown. Oh, Stångebro, where shadows fell, where tales of swords and sorrow swell. A battle born of pride and pain, where brothers fought in blood and rain. A bitter clash of faith and kin, where neither side would truly win. And when the clash had stilled its roar, a fate took shape unseen before. The blood court's call, a silent dread, where noble heads lay cold and dead. The Bloodbath, with its justice grim, where Karl struck down the rebel kin. Great men condemned to face the sword, for loyalty sworn, for spoken word. In flame and iron the realm was sealed, Sweden reborn on justice’ field. The tale remains of war’s harsh cost, where kinsmen fought and glory lost. And now the bells ring through the years, across those ancient fields of tears. A song of steel, of sword and bone, where Sweden rose, and legends shone.