I believe in the Wild Hunt
On this longest night of the year
When wolves howl at a never-setting moon
And it seems Sun has succumbed
To a long diminution
And the enduring chill pierces
To my very joints and marrow.
On this longest night of the year
When wolves howl at a never-setting moon
And it seems Sun has succumbed
To a long diminution
And the enduring chill pierces
To my very joints and marrow.
Odin rides forth with his hell-hounds,
And woe betide the mortal in their path!
They thirst for innocent souls,
Through endless night they hunt,
Transforming moon to blood,
Blacking out the very stars
By their grim and hungry passing.
And yet on this midwinter's night
I believe not in Odin's Wild Hunt,
But that of a more ancient god,
One who seeks souls with a fiercer hunger,
Who set out on an impossible raid, risking all
To plunder the hoard of Death itself
And win forth into the dawn of an undefeated Sun.
I believe not in Odin's Wild Hunt,
But that of a more ancient god,
One who seeks souls with a fiercer hunger,
Who set out on an impossible raid, risking all
To plunder the hoard of Death itself
And win forth into the dawn of an undefeated Sun.
