| A plate steel object was fired
|
| And I did not feel for my compatriots
|
| Hated even the core of myself
|
| Not a matter of ill-health
|
| It was fear of weakness deep in core of myself
|
| The fact attainment was out of
|
| [Mounting orations
|
| What generations
|
| Dumb populations
|
| What emulations]
|
| To be humbled in Iceland
|
| Sing of legend, sing of destruction
|
| Witness the last of the god-men
|
| Hear about Megas Jonsson
|
| Cast the runes against your own soul
|
| There is not much more time to go
|
| Work fifteen hours for the good of the soul
|
| And be humbled in Iceland
|
| Sit in the gold room
|
| Fall down flat in the Cafe aisle
|
| Without a glance from the clientele
|
| Your coffee black as well
|
| Hair blond as hell
|
| Cast the runes against your own soul
|
| Roll up for the underpants show
|
| And be humbled in Iceland
|
| And the spawn of the volcano
|
| Is thick and impatient
|
| Like the people around it
|
| See a green goblin redhead, redhead
|
| Make a grab for the book of prayers
|
| Do anything for a bit of attention
|
| Get humbled in Iceland
|
| What the goddamn fuck is it?
|
| That played the pipes of aluminum
|
| A Memorex for the Krakens
|
| That induces this rough text
|
| And casts the runes against the self-soul
|
| And humbles in Iceland |