Not even in the abyssal ocean
did the nail from the sacred forge cool,
and that iron thorn fallen from on high
was driven into a soil ever-frozen.
By it's burning blessing
everythig was transformed,
the ice turned into a stream
and the land into its sole vessel.
Through more and more sacred drops
the stream became a gushing river.
Wild it flowed forth, consuming
even the earth around it.
Come the deadliest of droughts
or a winter without end.
The water will not still,
its course will never bend.
Day after day, night after night,
my mind rides its hidden currents,
and the mirror-like surface
cradles my tuest reflection.
The roaring will,
the earthen heart.
Their essence mixed together,
their destination the same.
The sea of your shoreless darkness!
