| Geri and freki does heerfather feed
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| The far-famed fighter of old
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| But on wine alone does the one-eyed god
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| Wuotan, forever live
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| O’er midgard hugin and munin both
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| Each day set forth to flay
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| For hugin i fear lest he come not home
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| But for munin my care is more
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| There valgrind stands, the sacred gate
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| And behind’re the holy doors
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| Old is the gate, but few there are
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| Who can tell how it’s tightly locked
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| Five hundred doors and forty there are
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| I ween, in walhall’s walls
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| Eight hundred fighters through one door fare
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| When to war with the wolf they go
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| Five hundred rooms and forty there are
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| I ween, in bilskirnir built
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| Of all the homes who’se roofs i beheld
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| My son’s the greatest meseemed
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| There is folkvang, where freyja decrees
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| Who shall have seats in the hall
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| The half of the dead each day does she choose
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| The other half does othin have
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| There is gladsheim, and golden-bright
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| There stands walhall stretching wide
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| There does othin each day choose
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| All those who fell in fight
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| Now am i othin, ygg was i once
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| Ere that did they call me thund
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| Wodan and oden, and all, methinks
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| Are the names for none but me
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| Hail to thee, for hailed thou art
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| By the voice of veratyr
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| Where valgrind stands, the sacred gate
|
| Ye will find nine golden doors
|
| Hail to thee, for hailed thou art
|
| By the voice of veratyr
|
| Old is the gate, but few there are
|
| Who can tell how it’s tightly locked |