Spiritual hunger clawing at my being, no rest I look to the trees, to the earth, I sing their names Bound to this host, to old Jǫrð, a true pagans test With my head held high, I walk through these flames Ebbing and flowing with the tides of the forgotten Yet I stay true to this path, true to the voices of old I relinquish the flesh, blessings of yore are begotten And with the morning light, I am no longer alone and cold The abandoned son is now welcomed back home Yet the world surrounding demands regressive obedience Chanting continues to conjure the power of the sacred tome And as I fight for my own life, I am branded with deviance