Harper
 King Sifrid sat in the high hall:
 "You harpers, which of you knows the most beautiful song?"
 And a youth stepped nimbly forth from the throng,
 His harp in his hand, his sword at his side:

 "I know three songs; the first song
 You have likely already forgotten long:
 You stabbed and killed my brother in a dastardly fashion,
 And again [I say]: you stabbed and killed him in a dastardly fashion!

 The second song, that one I made up
 In a dark and stormy night:
 You must fight me in mortal combat,
 And again [I say]: fight me in mortal combat!"

 Then he leaned the harp up against the table,
 And they both drew their swords briskly
 And fought long with wild clangs,
 Till the king sank down in the high hall.

 "Now I shall sing the third and most beautiful song,
 One that I shall never grow tired of singing:
 King Sifrid lies in his red blood,
 And again [I say]: lies in his red blood!"

King (to himself)
 Who is the harper?
 [ No one saw that secret deed,
 [ The song is betrayal, the song is treason!
[Chorus:
 [ That rings out like revenge, that sounds like bloodlust!
 [ The king grew pale, that shall not end well!