Fórn


I make each sacrifice with your name on it,
they're carved into my leathering skin with
your pretty shards of ice.

I'd touch you, but then you’ll return to
water, drip through my hands.
I’d be alone again.

So I drink until you’re all that’s left,
and then I die of thirst for my beloved
like the soldier I am.

My faith lies in the ugly embrace of muddy field
on my boots after the snow you powder your face with
finally melts.

You and your green star skies are proud of me now,
I hope, because I worship this ground of yours
I walk on.

You told me bodies of Valhallen souls
rest underneath where you make me comfortable
in return for my return.

I cover myself, peeling back your layers.
I’m wrapped in your dirt, you’re hungry for someone living
just for you.

My winter island and I are the perfect match, life and the cold.
I guess you’d agree, or your desperate vines wouldn’t
climb me so.

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