Það á pottþétt eftir að virka!
Eða eins og textahöfundur Amon Amarth orðaði það:

“We rode the rivers of the Eastern trail,
Deep in the land of the Rus'.
Following the wind in our sails,
And the rhythm of the oars.
No shelter in this hostile land,
Constantly on guard.
Ready to fight and defend
Our ship ‘til the bitter end.

We came under attack,
I received a deadly wound.
A spear was forced into my back
Still I fought on.

When I am dead,
Lay me in a mound.
Raise a stone for all to see
Runes carved to my memory

Now here I lay on the river bank
A long, long way from home
Life is pouring out of me
Soon I will be gone.

I tilt my head to the side
And think of those back home
I see the river rushing by
Like blood runs from my wound.

Here I lie on wet sand,
I will not make it home.
I clinch my sword in my hand,
Say farewell to those I love.

When I am dead,
Lay me in a mound.
Place my weapons by my side
For the journey to Hall up high
When I am dead,
Lay me in a mound.
Raise a stone for all to see
Runes carved to my memory”

Nei, það er það ekki. En það breitir því samt ekki að ég er líklegur til að forvitnast :P