Den svarte Sot

Danish to English Translation:

Black Sickness:

Music: Frederiksen, lyrics: Atkin (Read the original text by Aktin here)
Translation to Danish (As seen in the booklet): Frederiksen

An honourable warrior-lord and father am I
I poured out mead to the glory of the gods
Brave in battle when many men fell
But my own banes-man came silently

With sallow yellow breast
An unmanly defect

My eyes became yellow as sand and as sun
My piss became dark like the arable land’s dust
My skin is hardened by wind and by scars
Of a hundred wounds from a hundred swords

Lashed by a cruel wind beneath a cold star
I must watch whilst the skin blackens like tar
From yellow to black, from brow to foot
My blood is blackened by fate’s false hope

I knew not defeat
Now I am half rotten

A mysterious sickness, many men’s bane
I see myself take a sickly hue
I have seen it before, seen what it does
Seen weapon-bearing men sicken and die

I am plagued by sickness, the black sickness
My kinsmen may seek a cure without luck
Death awaits me, my life I must lose
My fate, my lot, is determined for me

All-father, you traitor – hear now my call
Why straw death, why sickness? – Not enemies’ weapons?
Have I not done what you bade me?
To expire in bed is a pitiful death

Valkyries spurn me – will not show the way
Over Bifrost, to Valhalla, skin black as pitch
Death has no honour, I rot slowly
I will not win honour and respect
In Valhalla

It’s called svartsot, the brutal disease
That lets the redoubtable warriors die on their knees
Not in the heat of battle, or the cold sea
But withered cripples, not wild and free

They sing of svartsot, the blight of men
The sickness that is feared from fen to mountain
Nobody knows why, nor who, nor where
But now you know it from this bard’s words