Stýrisvolurin

Og hvřr iđ enn klettum rćđur ei á vindi vá
Teir hildu um stýrisvřl tá ódnin legđi á
"Legg upp í lotiđ," rópti ein og samdir teir
hála á stýrisvřl, men alt til fánýtis

Leiđin er lřgd, í gróti er hřgd,
og eru vit nřgd tá sřgnin er sřgd

Og skriđur tín knřrrur fram tađ sama hvat tú vil
Teir bardust um stýrisvřl men einki róđur til
Og enn vit halda stýrisvřl eins og vit
halda vit eru frćls, trćlborin óspurd so

Fjakka vit řll um kirkjugarđsvřll
í oyđini hřll, um fjarbláu fjřll

Tiltuskađ av landnyrđings ódn, og vindurin
leikar í Miđgarđi mól
Til Ásgarđs har Askurin stóđ, sum trćđrirnir
lívsins í lotinum har blaktrađu tá

Fjakka vit řll um kirkjugarđsvřll
í oyđini hřll, um fjarbláu fjřll

og flřtur, vitandi hvat mál vit megna livandi
Og feigdin dregur liđandi, vit vála henni
Tigandi á ting

[Solo: Heri Joensen]
[Solo: Terji Skibenćs]

Fjakka vit řll um kirkjugarđsvřll
í oyđini hřll, um fjarbláu fjřll

Vćl vitandi langnunnar leiđ, men gott er
tađ treystiđ at val er í vón
Óteljandi leiđirnar tćr, men ilt er tađ
treystiđ at valiđ er gjřrt, leiđin bert ein

Leiđin er lřgd, í gróti er hřgd
og eru vit nřgd tá sřgnin er sřgd

[Translation:]

And whoever reigns these cliffs, did not defeat the wind
They held the tiller when the storm broke loose
"Steer into the wind," shouted one and united they
pulled the tiller, but all in vain

The course has been set, carved in stone
And are we satisfied when the tale is told

And does your ship advance regardless of what you want
They fought over the rudderless tiller
And still we hold the tiller as we
Think we are free, thrallborn unconsulted so

We all drift on the graveyard field
In desolate halls, about distant mountains

Drenched and weary by the northwestern
storm, and the winds rages in Midgard
To Asgard where the Ash stood, like the
threads of life then flapped in the breeze

We all drift on the graveyard field
In desolate halls, about distant mountains

And plains, knowing what goal we are capable of living
And destiny draws slowly, we drift to meet it

We all drift on the graveyard field
In desolate halls, about distant mountains

Well aware of the course of destiny but it is
comforting that choice is before us
Countless your possible courses, but
discomforting that the choice has been made,
only one course

The course has been set, carved in stone
And are we satisfied when the tale is told