All, save the stirring words for darkest hour of night
When spectres scream upon the wind
And all who bar the gate lie riven in the dust
To no more avail, the ancient gifts of kings may rust

I do not fear death
I know the lots were carved and have been thrown
Acknowledge destiny
It takes the path of river, root and stone

The thrones of kings are smashed and heirlooms cast aside
…fools have scrabbled for our gold
The air is fouled and all that gushes forth a bitter broth
Destruction of supernature in a storm of wrath

The winter sun is blotted out the sky turns black
And howls of shamen fill the air
Odinnic brotherhood, the army of the slain
Shape-shifting madmen calling down an iron rain.