The children of Glomdoring sleep beneath

The many branches that do keep

Our little babes safe from our enemies teeth

Into soil do their blood-stained bodies seep

 

When the might of the Wyrd is brought full force

And the Lady awakens, her beauty bright

The forest takes of their essence, its dinner, the main course

From Her thorn whip, our foes have surely felt her bite

 

But once and awhile

Darkness casts itself upon us

Our eyes fearful as our throats choke on our bile

The unfaith look and their Gods and mistrusts

 

The Nightmare has come to Glomdoring, casting fear upon

The fearful mortals who shiver and quake

Our confidence gone

Where is the Lady, as we lay broken on the ground, filled with ache

 

The Silent is true to his name

Our questions fill the air

We do not understand the Divine game

And it seems to us, as if the Divine do not care

 

Mother, will you aid your babes

In their time of need

Help us, and guide our blades

The time has passed, where we can drown our sorrows in our mead

 

The forest is in peril!

Summon the power of the Wyrd!

Our strength must be feral!

We are the might of the Commune, though our voices remain unheard!

 

Come to me brothers

Come to me sisters

The time is gone to hide behind the skirts of our mothers

The time has come to carve our own path, like unto the listers

 

We confront the Nightmare

Though in our souls, we know we have little chance

Do not despair

It is time we take a stance!

 

We clash!

Show him our true strength!

But our charge was brash&

And he keeps us at arm’s length

 

But what is this, I ask?

Do you hear it?

Suddenly we have a new task

Our strength renewed and vigor in our spirit

 

The voice of the Lady and Silent

They combine into one

Though their plan may be violent

If it succeeds, we know we have won

 

The Nightmare was tricked

His confidence high

We have won the conflict

And His end is nigh

 

Sealed in a pillar of ice

So that his demise be seen

His punishment will occur thrice

His invasion on our soil was most obscene

 

As all things are

The Wyrd must be strengthened

Although some must think it bizarre

The roots of the Glomdoring must be lengthened

 

Eat of his flesh!

Eat of his blood!

Use it to refresh

Your newly sprouted bud

 

His body a shell

He finds himself drawn to our might

Though this new form may be hell

But I will walk under the Night

 

He has learned the strength of the Wyrd

Of our great Commune

And the next time we are spurred

To defend our homes, we now have Him, as our new boon