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The Winds Sang of DeathOn the wounds of our oak dragons we sailThe tail hidden beneath the cold sea Never have I seen these men so frail Glory never seemed so real Onward we sail With far fewer men Our brothers’ lament Glory never seemed so real We rowed for what seemed so long And asked the gods to guide Odin of wood, his one eye carved Our course he will provide Against the currents he drifted Though the winds began to blow Towards the mist he drifted Through the mist we’ll go The raven flies into the mist We follow, the skies turn black The weeping of the winds turns to wails As the sun turns to ash Giant tides, rain bites like swords The ship begins to thrash No land in sight, the anvil pounds on Only ashes of the sun Heaved across the jagged sea Tormented by nature’s unrelenting hand A wave swallows the horizon to the east And opens wide like the maw of a whale Inside the mouth of this beast we rode ‘Neath skies no man had seen before It calmed the seas and left the storm in its wake And spat us upon the shore |