When the gold Njord lifts his head above grey waves of sea
 When Northern cold winds play a horn of a blizzard
 Leaving the refuges at the top of the world
 When the ice lumps grow on rocks of a fjord
 On coast decline branches under caps of snow
 When the night knocks at a door of houses
 When the Vikings are ready to seize the weapon
 In fear before old gods and it seems
 That to madness of elements there will be no limit
 Then the old men speak about the beard of Njord
 To a great beard of storm that flies above the world