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From the Void we came,

To the Void we could only go,

All we have to offer and to treat,

Are molded remains,

Sacrificed on staves,

Rotting head of pale Niðstang's mare,

For everything we left behind,

And our livers, eyes and jinx,

To half-black Hel upon Gleaming Bale,

There is nothing certain but death,

Vitriolic gift as salvation from pain,

Murderess of jarls and deliverance of thralls,

For the soul to behold more and more,

Of deep-buried secret fate of all lives.

To breathe the miasma of Niflheimr,

As the Heldrasil neighs in the deeps,

Half-white Hel takes us for a ride,

Death is the only gift of life