Rows of men, in restless lines
Air still echoes, death signs
Not yet flown, from emptied halls;
Footsteps falter, crumble, crawls
Steady are my horse’s hooves, as I spur him on
The alder sprigs held high, on the left, at dawn
Arawn rules Gehenna, by blood blessed
Brân is your name, warrior of the shining crest
Some of them were cast away
On the fields of fight
Because of holes torn in them
By the enemy's might
Eerie voices linger, last;
Final choices, feared, now lost
Devastation drains, renew
Still bodies strewn-knotted knees
Nor the high gods who ever lived my fight
My enemy and hope; demons for fright
A dispute breaks! The divine Amaethon
Death within my grasp, planning aggression
Silver scrolls of birch bark
Record the roots of trees
Sycamore; timeless oak
Faceless king of a thousand years
I shall not see a world that will be dear to me
Summer without flowers
Kin will be without milk
Women without modesty
Men without valor
Captures without a king
Woods without mast
Sea without produce
Wrong judgments of old men
False precedents of lawyers
Every man, a betrayer
Every boy a reaver
Son will enter his father’s bed
Father will enter his son's bed
Son will deceive his father
Daughter will deceive her mother
An evil time!
