Frost, storm, rough night
Ymir's bones pale the light
Silence rigid in the snow
Deeply resting within himself
When the star is in the Yule moon
Twilight animates the field
/>The wild army hunts for twelve nights
Woe to him who goes astray
Rough is the language of the twelve
The river flows under the ice
/>The mother weighs the sprout
She knows it
The rough night closes the circle
She longs for it
The river paused
Storm God wrote the law< br/>Before the sun comes the moon
First the thought, then it becomes solid
Rending, angry, black
The language of the twelve is decline
eradicating, beautiful pounding, white
The language of the twelve is a new beginning
The river paused
Storm God wrote the law
Before the sun comes the moon
First the thought, then becomes it firmly