Draugr Balled - The Burning Ship

The tide is pulling out, but moon is riding high.
We load the shields and weapons where the fallen lie.
My hands are rough from rowing through the bitter night.
The salt stings every blister, but we hold him tight.
He led us into battle when the world was young.
Now silence takes the place of every war song sung.
The wood is soaked in oil, the torch is in my hand.
We push him toward the deep, away from any land.
Row him to the blackness, where the cold waves meet the sky.
Light the ship and watch it burn; we sing our last goodbye.