My father sired too many sons
For a rocky farm on a Norway fjord.
My brothers took the house and lands
So I left home with my father's sword
And I followed the sea road south
The path of a gull on the wing
To the city at the Black Sea's mouth
And the guard of the city's King
When Caesar sires too many sons
The throne's worth more than a barren farm
If the eldest wants to hold his own
Then he needs the weight of a Northmans arm
And his gold calls the Northman south
Calls like a gull on the wing
To the city at the Black Sea's mouth
And the guard of the city's King
Men fight and die on the city streets
As much as they do in the desert land
And if wyrd is waiting, then we shall meet
And I'll never live to hold in my hand
The gold that calls me south
Calls like a gull on the wing
To the city at the Black Sea's mouth
And the guard of the city's King
But the city's all a-shine with gold
There's colored stones on every wall
And there's more gold coins than your hands can hold
And if I live I will have them all
When I come back from the South
Glad as a gull on the wing
From the city at the Black Sea's mouth
And the guard of the city's King
From the city at the Black Sea's mouth
And the guard of the city's King