The summers are short in the lands of the North.
The soil is poor and the winters are hard.
But the sun beats down hot in the lands of the South,
And I hear they need men for the guard
Come men of the North, come fighters of Thule
Come to the warm south where the Caesars still rule
The road it is tough and the journey is far
We're selling our swords to the S.P.Q.R.
They gave me a tunic that was redder than blood
A cloak of a rich royal hue
They gave me a blade to bite Saracen's steel
So their shirts could run red as blood too
Come men of the North, come fighters of Thule
Come to the warm south where the Caesars still rule
The road it is tough and the journey is far
We're selling our swords to the S.P.Q.R.
The men of Byzantium are honorable men
No matter the tales you've been told
They call for our service again and again
The pay is on time and in gold
Come men of the North, come fighters of Thule
Come to the warm south where the Caesars still rule
The road it is tough and the journey is far
We're selling our swords to the S.P.Q.R.
The Senate and men of New Rome, it is said,
Live soft lives of leisure and ease.
But Byzantine ladies like Northmen in bed,
So we fight and make love (OR we fuck) as we please.
Come men of the North, come fighters of Thule
Come to the warm south where the Caesars still rule
The road it is tough and the journey is far
We're selling our swords to the S.P.Q.R.
We fought with the Persians and Caucusus tribes
The Normans we've had on the run
And if, by bad wierd, we should give up our lives
At least we shall die in the sun
Come men of the North, come fighters of Thule
Come to the warm south where the Caesars still rule
The road it is tough and the journey is far
We're selling our swords to the S.P.Q.R.