| Prowling giants cross the fjord
|
| Turn to stone when faced with the sunrise
|
| Jagged cliffs jut skyward; |
| home to puffin, guillemot, raven
|
| Fearless men descend the cliffs
|
| Severed ropes send them to their maker
|
| Whether threadbare or intact, fate provides the same consequences
|
| Torn apart while plunging to a watery grave in the ocean
|
| Every bone is brokn. |
| Dashed upon the jagged rocks of Drangy
|
| I will come and consecrate this cursed island
|
| Rid this cliff of malevolent forces
|
| Send me down to consecrate this cursed cliff face
|
| Lower me and bring the holy water
|
| Threads away from plunging to a watery grave in the ocean
|
| Hasty consecration, dangled from the jagged rocks of Drangey
|
| Wretched hand, get thee away. |
| Haul me up swiftly
|
| Save me from this hairy-handed bastard!
|
| Prowling hunters scale the cliffs
|
| Fell to sea when faced with the knife edge
|
| Jagged cliffs jut skyward; |
| home to puffin, guillemot, raven
|
| I see a rope, I see a man, and then I reach for my knife, clasped in my hairy
|
| fingers
|
| I try to cut; |
| one strand, two strands. |
| Who do you think you are?
|
| The wicked need a place of their own too
|
| The birds collect on heathen ground |