Back when I was ten
Near the longship wharf
I watched the old man
And the god he carved.

Not with a tool and skill
He said gods are made,
Wind is their will
We are trees that sway.

I still see the god’s eyes
Under the wrinkled hand
Focused on the sky
Visioning the end.

Down the river of gray
They float away
Silent silhouettes
As the sky turns red

River flows into night
They leave behind
Shrines of oak and elms
For the twilight realms

All splintered and riven
The gods that we believed in
Cut like logs

Flames beneath the obscured sky
And the slain gods float by
Drifting into the dark indifferent and solemn

Questioning the crimson dusk
Only one last thing I’ll ask
Will they wait for me in the Hall of the Fallen

Into the night and beyond the gods are gone
All the gods are gone
And the river rolls on

Dispersed in the dark wide
They lead us into the fight
One last time

Flames beneath the obscured sky
And the slain gods float by
Drifting into the dark indifferent and solemn

Questioning the crimson dusk
Only one last thing I’ll ask
Will they wait for me in the Hall of the Fallen