[Intro][Fast gallop riff with shouted counting over tom accents.]

[Shouted Count-In]
One for the spear, two for the throne,
Three for the wolf when the sun is gone.

[Verse 1 - Female Lead Valkyrie]
Beneath the rafters behind the feast,
A ledger lay open like the hide of a beast.
Not names, not fathers, not fields, not wives,
Only marks cut deep for harvested lives.
East ridge: eighty. River bend: more.
King’s road: ready for a three-day war.
I traced the scratches with a shaking thumb,
And heard the Allfather whisper, “Let them come.”

[Pre-Chorus]
Not every brave man finds the gate,
Not every coward keeps his fate.
The scale was weighted, the ink was red,
A god had measured the breathing dead.

[Chorus]
Counting the chosen, bone by bone,
Not for the song, not for the stone.
Counting the chosen, shield by shield,
Valhalla waits like a hungry field.
Call it honor, call it gold,
The numbers are colder than the old gods told.

[Verse 2 - Female Lead Valkyrie]
The king from the dream rode into the dawn,
His banner a wound that the wind pulled on.
Opposing horns answered from the pine-dark pass,
Frost turned red on the winter grass.
I saw two armies and one design,
Two prayers knotted on the same god’s line.
The ravens circled with patient eyes,
As if they already knew the size.

[Pre-Chorus]
Not every brave man finds the gate,
Not every coward keeps his fate.
The scale was weighted, the ink was red,
A god had measured the breathing dead.

[Chorus]
Counting the chosen, bone by bone,
Not for the song, not for the stone.
Counting the chosen, shield by shield,
Valhalla waits like a hungry field.
Call it honor, call it gold,
The numbers are colder than the old gods told.

[Instrumental Break][Guitars and drums shift into a tense 7/8 pattern.]

[Bridge]
If I break the count, the hall will know.
If I keep the count, the rivers flow.
If I speak the truth, the riders fall.
If I bite my tongue, I serve the hall.

[Bridge 2]
Feather in my fist, frost in my lung,
The oldest songs taste wrong when sung.

[Build-up]
One for the spear.
Two for the throne.
Three for the wolf.
Who counts his own?

[Final Chorus]
Counting the chosen, bone by bone,
Not for the song, not for the stone.
Counting the chosen, shield by shield,
Valhalla waits like a hungry field.
Call it honor, call it gold,
The numbers are colder than the old gods told.

[Female Lead Coda]
Counting the chosen, name by name,
I saw my oath and I saw its shame.

[Outro][Counting chant breaks apart over galloping drums.]