I come from the North, I sing of my ancestral line,
Without whom, I would not be here for this time,

 

‘Get off your high horse,’ runs the earthing refrain;
‘No, get on it,’ the mount of righteousness is again,

 

The steed of the ancestors, it flows in my blood.
Dismount not – instead, armour thyself in the mettle of His love,

 

Hammered in the foundry, formed by shattering blows above,
Furnace firing, evil devouring, the burnishing steel of God,

 

Truth? We are of stern stuff, the Fire and Ice of the north,
Are born for this, love is truth and truth is love
Just as red velvet feels snug inside a steel glove.

 

Northmen, know this truth wins over the lies of Satan
Collaborators and traitors who seed doubt are mistaken;
For blood is thicker than water; it flows through our veins,
Testimony to our creator, the One who truly reigns.

Footnote: Men of the North is, in the context of the poem, the chosen term for those forged closest to the lands beneath Polaris.

“You are no random event…” Mimir’s Brunnr:

Further Reading: PUB pursuing charges of Mass Murder against individuals acting jointly and severally in UK Gov.

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