From tarry pits to starry heights, may all un-harrowed howl as one!

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We are the ones who shed inky tears.

We are the ones who bathe in the flood.

We are the ones who conquered our fears.

We are the ones who march with the drum.

 

We are the ones who dance with the beast.

We are the ones who bled in the slums.

We are the ones who set out to feast.

We are the ones who march with the drum.

 

We are the ones who dwell in the storm.

We are the ones who pulse with the thrum.

We are the ones who brandish new form.

We are the ones who march with the drum.

We are the ones who call from the under.

We are the ones who beckon all come.

We are the ones who roar with the thunder.

We are the ones who march with the drum. 

 

Coda (Grógaldr, stanza 15):

Far thú, nú, æva            

Thar’s thér fora∂ thykkir,        

ok standi-t thér mein fyrir munum.    

Á jar∂fostum steini            

stó∂ ed inane dura,            

me∂an ek thér galdra gól.