Death does not constitute salvation The end of your life is the end of your hindrance We will return to the mound of our forebears We will return to the world of our kin Through the blackened gates we crawl On bended knee you will obey the ancestral call Instruments of pain, underlings in mortality The plane of the living clawing at our spirit True release is found in the removal of the virus without True understanding comes from within Hail the Aesir, Hail the North Hail the Vanir, May our ships set fourth