King of Asgard - Svartrviðr

Dread- silent lair- the olden myth. Brood by the haunted- its fearless dawn.
Confused and garbled- it lure the crest. Grown distorted and awry. Its orb- its flesh-
remote and strange in slow decay yet burning. Black widened depths.
Consumed the slain. Fed the wolfs and the gaping caves

svartrviðr... and the ghosts of tomorrow
At the end of the mountain- truth lies in rest for the void to swallow.
Its words still wonder- the great and vast tie the past in woven-dim.

Ur skogens dunkel sakta gled ho- där sola runnet ner. Ett grått vammel
som flaxa för vinn. Oh- tamä faen sjöng inte fågla ens.
Ho sto litte på glänt- den som vi trodde runnet ihop te sten. O dä te o knaka-
o det rång i bärie men det har sånt faenstyg inga makt mä...
nei- det har sant faenstyg inga makt mä... o aldri har en hört e pingla mer...

In peace they came - in clash arose the repugnant red and
its horror. By every toll - the turn of stone the beauty held -
its drowning. The tears will sink - by the roar of three
and weattur - ash - its crowning. Yet still they sleep - in
grandeur towers. High and ever higher.
svartrviðr... and the ghosts of tomorrow