A Thousand Ancestors

Rísa upp, fórn andar; blóð og styrkur lifir. Úr myrkri, úr steini, bý ég á stíg. Fires burn with the dark wind; scream echoes of battles run through the stream. Not gone, not lost, Never erased; their roar in my veins can't be replaced. Strike in the storm, breath like the fjord; every blow,