

Sons of Sweden
I remember thunder rolling over Uppsala fields
Where the old mounds stand beside our shields
Then came new words, spoken with certainty
Came to silence stories carved in stone
The old rites faded, the runes grew still
The tales once carved on Uppsala’s hill
And Sweden bent, though not in peace
The fire beneath us never cooled
Now shadows fall on sacred ground
And foreign drums begin to sound
They claim their lanterns show what’s right
But in the dark, we prime the fight
This land is ours — open and free!
Forged in the soil, sworn to the sea
Our northern blood still lives in veins
We don’t forget what binds us
No more retreat, no hollow peace
Sons of Sweden will never kneel!
We stand — we never fall
From Uppsala’s groves to Malmö’s streets
We guard the hearth our fathers built
No foreign creed, no foreign will
Shall ever make this people kneel
The old gods whisper through the pines
A pulse that climbs through Nordic spines
We carry Thor and Odin’s name
And swear this soil stays in our name
Still they speak of right to rule
Still they preach their foreign rule
We are the hands that raise the blade
This ground we hold will not be swayed
This land is ours — open and free
It was, it is, how it must be
But never for those who’d break the peace
Or drown our blood in foreign seas
Of blood and oath that bind our veins
We’ve stood before — we’ll break these chains
We hold the line — no yield, no rue
We are of Sweden, hear the call
Stand as one — never watch it fall
The ancient mounds still watch and wait
To see if we will rise again
No sword can cut the thread we tread —
We fight with fire for the land we tread
This land is ours — open and free!
Forged in the soil, sworn to the sea
The blood of the North beats hard in our veins
We rise as the storm — and we break the hold!
Winter-born, iron-true
Sons of Sweden, hear the call