Each shephard sat around his feet
And as he pause they wonder
What secret would he say
But his solemn mouth speaks only
Of a sage of the holy way
High atop an ice breezed peak
The sage can be found to speak
To sing songs of the great Jomski

Who did command ten thousand men
On frigid Icelandic sea
Soaring 'neath open sky
In longships landed these men ashore
To plunder and pillage all in sight
And settle and rest did each man then
And drunk on their worship soon begin
To sing songs of the great Jomski

And when one day the great Jomski lieth
On damp soil wounded by the fateful spear
A solemn dove could be seen flying
Towards those mourning friends of home
With dreaded message of his dying
And as such crowds flood his sombre wake
All who cometh doth partake
To sing songs of the great Jomski