487-2 Battle of the Wash and rescuing Aelfgifu

On the long road again
Breeze in my nostrils again
Towards Saxon lands

Something not the same
I hold to my side with pain
I am growing weak

Before our weary eyes
A harmonious quiet village
Beaten man before us

He speaks of great crime
The plunder of vital livestock
We shall investigate

I fall to instinct
Beaten man is the culprit
He shall know justice

He cries in great fear
As a weak slave to be whipped
Memory from dark time

I am pulled back
Gently by noble sword brothers
Justice not violence

The vital lost livestock
Shall be found by sword brother
Young hunter he is

The tracks guides our path
Into a dense dark forest
Unease strikes me hard

I long for my home
The land of majestic freedom
The great eternal steppes

But home is very far
Home is across the hungering ocean
Home is not christian

Saxon cries are heard
They must have stolen the bull
We shall trample them

Alas not so quickly
There is but one male Saxon
The bull is not there

Saxon full of pride
He refuses to comply with us
He shall know of me

I am Attila’s kin
Such is enough for blond barbarians
He fears me greatly

He a man no more
But a crying child to kill
Memory from dark time

He will comply now
My sword brothers did not save me
From my vile demons

The Saxon joins us
He seeks his chief´s young daughter
She´s surely with bull

The young hunter guides us
Night beckons it is time to rest
The young squires shall continue

A shriek in the distance A young squire is in great trouble
We all make haste swiftly

Before us a knave
He is run down like a dog
He is made to talk

He values his meek life
He leads us to their vile den
We shall deliver justice

Pagan sword brother charges
A pyre he lights on the hovel
The rest move forward swiftly

But here I shall stand
Fighting with my internal demons
The fire shall be great

A family is shoved
Into their home they shall burn
Memory from dark time

I stand alone with this
I must turn my will to the lord
Guide my instinct Christ

My arrow guides by Christ
Strikes true and I obey my lord
In the melee i go

They fall before us swiftly
Wounds are had but we are alive
It feels good to live

My pagan sword brother
Throws the girl out of the window
Laughter in my heart

The bull is recovered
The girl begs to compensate
It is the hunter´s due

Injured from the battle
She shall nurse him to strength
She fails spectacularly

Her charms are alas wasted
She could had become a wife
Proper christian wife

The bull is returned
The chief´s daughter is brought home
A great feast is had

We are justly rewarded
A fine cattle for each of us
May Christ smile upon them
-Árpád The Swift