Freya

A Sword of fire and an axe of cold Vision of the sibyl has foretold Armies gather on the battle-plain All will fall and earth will die in flame Here on the battle-plain We will die in flame In Falcon's feathers soaring overhead Choosing warriors among the dead Twilight written in the runes of crones Freya weeps upon her golden throne Upon her golden throne We wait for her alone Call us unto your hall Take us into your thrall The battle rages, bit they fight in vain When all is done it must begin again