| The mountain crown, the mountain spirit farthest North
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| She is bound in the guise of a Horned Owl
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| Wife of the One eyed Åme
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| The queen of mist in the shadows dance
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| Rises high above the fertile plain
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| Of past of present, of memory and of man
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| She’s lurking the corner of dawn
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| Ancient, ever being, never ceasing
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| Of seven oak forests grown, of seven rotted down
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| Still proud she stand
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| Shape and torn, as dew was gone
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| A monument, a bewitching hand
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| Bound sacrifice, great eternal youth
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| In stillness withdrawn, dreamless for evermore
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| Arose as she’s drawn
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| A gateway to where our worlds meet and manifest
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| A portal to where our worlds collide
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| Omma… Omma… Omma… Omma…
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| Omma… Omma… Omma… Omma…
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| Across the meadows, a veil of mist
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| As above the dangerous waters
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| She’s wandering, cold and clear
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| Reaches out and embrace in despair and disgrace
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| As the tears of Wetur come
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| Crushing tear, ruin down
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| The steep, red wall, the lair of the mountain
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| King Shiver, beware…
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| And so they went the mountain seven times around
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| Thus destiny be told, their fate be carued
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| Omma… Omma… Omma… Omma…
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| Omma… Omma… Omma… Omma…
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| A gateway to where our worlds meet and manifest
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| A portal to where our worlds collide |