Beneath the storm-crowned sky he stands,
Hammer in hand, the friend of man.
Not bound by blood, nor tribe, nor name,
His oath is shield, his fire the same.

When tyrants rise with iron bands,
When shadows clutch at hopeful hands,
He thunders forth, a clarion call:
No chain shall bind, no soul shall fall.

His lightning speaks in tongues of flame,
Not marking difference, not laying blame.
Each heart that dares, each voice that cries,
He lifts toward unbroken skies.

Children of earth, both far and near,
Of every colour, faith, and sphere
Stand tall, take courage, do not yield,
For Þunor walks the battlefield.

He is the storm that clears the air,
The vow that all may rise and dare,
A god, a guide, a timeless friend,
Whose strength is yours until the end.