Sigurd the Jarl of the Orkney Isles,
Has called to his banner a Viking band;
And sailed to Dublin to make himself
King of the Irish lands.

        But Crowns are never so quickly won,
        The Norns, they well know-
        The king of the Irish blocks our way.
        We must to battle go.

The Raven Banner of the Orkney Jarl
Brings luck in battle, but its bearer dies.
Two men have fallen 'neath its wings today,
But still the raven flies.

        The Jarl tells a third man to take it up.
        The third man answers, "No!
        The devil's your own; take it up yourself,
        And back to battle go."

"'Tis fitting the beggar should bear the bag,"
Replies the Jarl, "and I'll do so here."
He fought with the banner tied around his waist,
And fell to an Irish spear.

        He died and the Irish broke our line.
        We had no chance but flight,
        But I'm not hurried, it's a long way home,
        I won't get there tonight.

The Norns have woven a bloody web,
A tapestry made of guts and bone,
And parcelled it out to the Orkney host-
Our day in Ireland's done.

        The grey wolf howls and the raven soars
        Above the arrow's flight,
        And Odin is waiting beyond the fray
        For some of us tonight.

They stood on the rocky Irish coast,
And watched the sea with wary eyes.
The first man to see the dragon prow
Takes horse, and warning cries.

        The King of the Irish, standing tall,
        Calls warriors to his side,
        "The Northman who first sets foot ashore
        Will be the first who dies!"

The Northmen swarmed from the dragon ships
Rich in steel, and their banners bright.
The Irishmen formed around their King,
And, singing, they went to fight.

        The plain was red as the rising sun,
        Both sides' blood stained the ground.
        The Irish fought for their land and King,
        And pulled the Raven down.

But Northern hearts do not fear the blade,
And their victory lost but still they stand.
They call on the gods of the warrior north
And die on the Irish land.

        But even the Northmen finally turn,
        The dragons run to sea.
        The King of the Irish, standing still,
        Has won his victory.

With hair as red as the setting sun
Brian Boru tells warriors brave,
"I live and the way to the Irish crown
Leads only to the grave.

        Whoever may come across the sea
        Will find the Irish spear
        Held by men unafraid to die
        Who'll teach them how to fear."