| Night has fallen over the nature of the North
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| The sea lines dark as oil, Frey and Njård come forth
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| For the love of our province, grant us growth and peace
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| Watch over the workers on land and at the seas
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| After June and July comes the grey September
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| And I think of the nation of which I am a member
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| Norway, my cradle, that mountainous spoon
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| #1 on all lists, civilization’s boon?
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| Why be so hard on someone you love?
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| I’ve done my bit of crawling, I’ll risk 5 minutes above
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| The critique has been quiet, here is what I have to say
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| Like my feldgrau dress, let my lyrics be field grey
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| The wealth has made you arrogant, people run to you for money
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| Not because they like you, they just wanted to taste the honey
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| The Norwegian identity is now based on handouts
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| Why do you think it’s so far between the standouts?
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| Solefald Retrospective Chorus:
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| In a postcolonial age we wrote postmodern rhyme
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| Sped The Macho Vehicle down the Autobahn of Time
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| The Linear Scaffold is a Christian invention
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| A one-way ticket to Hell with patriarchal intention
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| Proprietors of Red by The Circular Drain
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| We come again, like the sun and the rain
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| The Germanic Entity will cause the World to fall
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| There won’t be any Profit, Progress above all
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| You complain that kids don’t read, never fed them the hooks
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| The libraries decay, they trash half of our books
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| Looks to the Atlantic, see Norse heritage thrive
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| An Icelandic Odyssey, the old gods are alive
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| The Prince skis through the forest with some ruler on the phone
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| Spearheading an empire as he glides past the firs alone
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| Pomp without power was the rage of the past
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| Power without pomp can make our age the last
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| The Germanic Entity, its name shall not be spoken
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| The chains of this Power have never been broken
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| Blut und Eisen replaced with Diplomacy and Aid
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| Peace is something that His Majesty made
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| What can our Statesman do more than to play Christ
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| With oil-fueled diplomacy, a humanist heist
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| Social democracy prefer finance to the word
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| Money wrapped as Dialogue makes Him the Lord
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| KOSMOPOLIS NORD
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| Utan fyrebod stend det ein by der, lysande, kastar kvite og gule spjot
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| Uppover i myrkret, bruer og bygg, løysingar som hjelper
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| Menneski å finna seg ein heim i deg, Kosmopolis
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| Den totale byen diktaren drøymer um
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| Der han stend under det store biletet, tagal, budd til å fara
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| Frå velstanden som vart til dekadanse, Diktaren skal inn
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| I den mytiske tidi, til skumringi der ei kvinne sit
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| Og drit. |
| Ho vender deim ryggen, no ventar
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| Skogsvegen, dei store flatone: Eg hev sett deim, kjent deim
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| Dei drap hundar og skulda på hunger. |
| Dei dreiv tennene
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| Inn i eigne skallar so dei fekk endå ein munn å metta
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| Dei åt for tvo og drap for tri. |
| Eg elska rovdyri
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| Men hev ikkje fleire lamb å missa. |
| I skogen er eg fri for rovdyri
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| No vert veggene bygde for å halda oss inne, sperra dyret
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| Inne. |
| Det vil verta endå varmare, endå trongare
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| Enn fyrr. |
| Svarte kalde vegger å spegla seg i |