Call The Brethren. Poem by Tor Silvertongue

Sir, I see you walking in my land,
Mighty sword and shield in hand.
You preach of this God,
This dying man.
Saying my Gods,
Are all shams.

I will not forsake my fame,
I will not call out
In Yahweh's Name.
I will not bear your pious cross,
Trust me, friend.
My soul's a loss.

Convert or die,
Is what you say?
Convert, I won't.
But die,
You may!

You act like lambs
Awaiting slaughter.
We are the wolves,
The great marauders.

Norsemen, should all heed this call,
Push these zealots from our land,
Or by Odin's grace, they shall fall.