Old Berserker.
An old berserker gnawing, bad;
His face is twisted, raging…..it’s scarred by war paws he has
met, along his war-torn-trails.
He’s brooding, drunk, of all delights - delighted in his
pain
His best friend –
rage, the only one that’s left impervious to death.
“Oh Holy Anger, greatest friend who hath become my patron,
I have destroyed so many men, their pride I used as weapon.
I killed and slaughtered left and right, dismantled many
bodies
I also fooled the dwarves of a political might and sneaked
around the law-bodies.
I snuffed out gold, I had no need in riches or in money,
And wished no-good on enemies I did, and killed them in my
mind.
So hear me now the Sacred One, and properly respond please.
I’ve been your
faithful servant then, and always bid your will so,
Just give me now the
latest deal - as I have always given. Now listen,
My freedom is my rage,
my
rage is my food,
my power is my will,
my
purpose is my strength,
my strength is my Grief,
my
grief is my anger,
my anger is my power!
Oh Holy Anger, be with me – propel me to my death now,
Bring healing balm, alleviate the pain and answer Viking’s
prayer.
I’ll cross the plain where nothing grows, and meet old
friends that I have lost
I’ll meet Old Man - and see his eyes, and won’t dread the
loss of life.
The only thing I’ll miss, it’s true, the fighting storm and
flower’s hue.
