Spear-Theign Voromund
     Stout Ovars-son,
     Biar the Young and Grenden.
     Grumm of Lund
     And some men from Skane.
     Sixteen stout hearts
     I too was one.

     With Rans-breath thick on morning sun
     The hearty men a madness met.
     An ax-dance worth the spear-grooms price.
     A gruesome beast from out the ice.
    
     Huge Grumm, with ax blade singing
    Gave a blow to split the skull
    A war song in his throat was ringing
    The Troll-kin lost a toe.

    Three men of Skane, mothers-shame
    Ran for the bobbing ships
    One is dead and two lie lame
    With troll-bite for their  fame.

   A Greedy fist now bearing down
   Towards the Jarls silver crown
   Oh monstrous hammer of whoa!

   Voromund held his ground.

   A cold bright gleam his spear ran clean
   He pierced it through the lean.
   When it forward bent
   Grumms' ax came through its neck.

   Yet still it lived!
   A fearsome beast struggling with nine toes.
   Then Ovars'-son took his blow
   The bloody strike that cracks the spine
   And the Troll-wives were filled with whoa.