| Frozen sun
|
| Far away as the year is young
|
| Lights are low, seems all life has gone
|
| As the shadows grow sharp and long
|
| On the snow
|
| No-one knows when Fimbul finally comes
|
| Oh, how stark
|
| Dazzling, brilliant, glittering sparks
|
| Dancing flakes against blackened bark
|
| Blink three times and once more it’s dark
|
| Nights are slow
|
| No-one knows when Fimbul finally comes
|
| Birches reach, their bodies bleached
|
| Like whale bones drying on a frosty beach
|
| Guarding graves with wordless speech
|
| Lectures no living creatures teach
|
| The dead have seen the end of this world
|
| In the dead
|
| Of a winter heavy as lead
|
| Breath is smoking with each word said
|
| In a halo 'round every head
|
| Voices low
|
| No-one knows when Fimbul finally comes
|
| Birches reach, their bodies bleached
|
| Like whale bones drying on a frosty beach
|
| Guarding graves with wordless speech
|
| Lectures no living creatures teach
|
| The dead have seen the end of this world |