When thunder claps the sky
with a frost giant’s great hammer blow,
His scale tips the world into
the longest winter you’ll ever know.
Suns will die and the moon’s consumed
into the famished wolf’s belly and maw.
You will starve in the Striker’s shadow;
for this was our fatal flaw.
The gods will cry of snow and hail,
their contempt a snakelike hiss;
Take heed when the lightening strikes
with no intents to miss.
Their message carries a strident stream
for all of you to witness and hear.
You will be their sacrificial martyr,
and the lamb cowering in fear.
Run, dare not look back,
for the storm is coming high;
She will sing in the heart of winds,
rain and ice from the sky.
As mortal folly cannot dart immortal wrath,
or step aside the Surt’s fire-flow;
He will rip the world asunder,
and send them to Niflheim below!