Hear, O King, the council
carved in the sword tree's heart.
Heed not the cold cruel rede
that calls for brawling blood.
The Outland trolls lure loud
to lead men into their den.
Their corpse breath foul does fuel
the fires of red vengeance.

Revenge will foul our fame
and find us only scorn.
Hollow is wars winning
where valor does not fare.
Let noble daring deeds
be done to claim our fame.
And should to fate we fall
fame shall name us heros.

Around you shining shields
and shirts of iron rings sing
the strong storm song of war.
Staunch are warrior hearts.
Let our noble Star stride
the steep and shining climes.
So lead, O king, westward
where waits valor's glory.