Runin’, that is what we Vikings do,
sealing letters that are thus imbued.
I am one of the scribes for my man, Eric,
whose mind’s on going to the Balearics.

That is a place he’d like to see; he’s set for
cruisin’ and has assembled a crew;
fleet is getting ready soon to move.

He wants a record of our time at sea;
for the ship’s log, he’s depending on me.
I’ll join ravaging people on the fleet, just
runin’, taking down his points of view;
reading it daily he’ll want to.
So I must go.

We sail out one day from a Norway bay,
ready to travel very far away.
When we reach our destination we’ll slay.
Victims distressed will be, but there’s distress at sea.

Ruined now is our rapacious cruise.
Before I drown, I’ll record the news:
It’s a no-go.

Doomed is our tub—glug, glug!