The Old Man's Child

Gods of ancient twilight, glance the golden past, let me enter your hidden gate, let me know I am the last.

Rise nocturnal spirits, eternal gods of the north, blow your wind upon my flesh, reach me your immortal force.

I dance through the winter storms, all through a lifetime as man, marching to the deepest fog, to bend down beneath your ancient hand.

So engraved by battles for years, but more mighty than ever, with blood on my weapons I hunger, for more (I shall never give up the war).

I'll make this night my darkest intentions, walking towards your kingdom, winter of the norse evil,