the Thunderer

Storms are my shadow,
Cloaked in grey.

Lightning is my lamp,
flickering with flame.

Fog follows me,
rising from the two rivers. 

Once, Crusher was stolen.
I wore a dress to get it back. 

Nine steps I will take before I die,
after battering down the great wyrm.

That is my wyrd,
All-mighty Thórr's life thread.


 

Sounds

I hear the sound
     from the Rushy Mountains,
     the wild and sweet Rushy Mountains.

I hear the sound
     from the stoney Burren,
     the wild and lonesome stoney Burren.

I hear the sound
     from Gweedore's green glen,
     the wild fierce green glen of Gweedore.

The sound of a hearth fire
     I've never sat beside,
     snap of a peat fire
     and the tramp of feet

     minding the dresser,

     whiskey fueled
     and music driven -

     One day
I will go where my fathers before
trod the land, tilled the land,
were killed by the land -
One day I will go home.