Axe of the Frozen Heart

Gray skies weep on frosted stone, a bitter wind begins to moan. Our breath like

mist, a frozen plea, beneath the ancient, watchful tree. The ground is

hard, the ice is keen, a brutal world, a sacred scene.

For glory, death, or what's between, our Viking spirit strong and clean.

Hear the drums of war ignite, steel will gleam in fading light. The ancient call,

it echoes deep, while slumbering giants softly sleep. Axe of the Frozen Heart,

we rise through ice and fire. Our spirit flies, blood and glory

forge our fate. Against the darkness, we stand great. My hand grips tight the hallowed