Iðunn's Apples

Intro

(Iðunn! Iðunn!)

You didn't notice me — until the apples were gone...

(Hu-ha!) Gods growing grey before the third grey dawn —

Hands shaking at the mead-bench — something wrong —

(Iðunn!) The one who kept them young was gone too long...

Verse 1

They call me gentle — that's the first misreading —

Gentle is what holds the wound from bleeding.

Gentle is the hand the nine worlds keep on needing

When the alternative is every god receding.

I keep the eski — the small box — ash-wood, plain —

Inside: the apples — gold — the gods' domain.

Each one eaten — each one grown back again —

The mathematics of my function — simple — sane.

Óðinn eats — the one eye clears another decade —

Thor eats — the hammer-arm stays strong — no muscle fade —

Freyr eats — the harvest-light stays gold, ungrayed —

Every god in Ásgarðr runs on what I've made.

They feast and scheme and forge and fight and never

Once consider where the youth comes from — however —

Let three days pass without the apple's tether

And the gold-roof hall starts looking like bad weather.

Pre-Chorus

Loki met Þjazi in the eagle-shape descending (shape descending)

Made a deal to save his skin — my life the spending.

Told him where I walked — the orchard at the bending

Of the ash-grove — come alone — no one defending. (uh!)

Chorus

They didn't guard me — didn't need to — until they did (until they did!)

The apples gone three days and every god slid (every god slid!)

Grey hair at the mead-bench — that's what my absence bid (my absence bid!)

Iðunn holds the age of gods inside the lid! (Hu-ha!)

Verse 2

Þjazi took me north to Þrymheimr — eagle-wings —

The same hall Skaði came to claim for her own things.

He thought possession of the keeper brings

The apples with it — that's not how the function sings.

The apples aren't the gift — I am the knowing —

The tending — the renewal — the constant sowing.

A box of gold fruit without the hand bestowing

Is just fruit — aging — rotting — never growing.

Back in Ásgarðr — three days — I watched it happen

From the mountain: Óðinn's beard gone white and ashen.

Thor's grip loosening — Freyr's glow gone cracking —

The gods discovered what I was — through what was lacking.

Loki came in feathers — Freyja's falcon-gift —

Transformed me small — a nut — the carry-lift —

Þjazi eagle-shape behind — the desperate drift —

The gods lit fires at the wall — that's how they shift.

Pre-Chorus

Loki met Þjazi in the eagle-shape descending (shape descending)

Made a deal to save his skin — my life the spending.

Told him where I walked — the orchard at the bending

Of the ash-grove — come alone — no one defending. (uh!)

Chorus

They didn't guard me — didn't need to — until they did (until they did!)

The apples gone three days and every god slid (every god slid!)

Grey hair at the mead-bench — that's what my absence bid (my absence bid!)

Iðunn holds the age of gods inside the lid! (Hu-ha!)

Bridge

You want to know what it means to be essential?

(what does it mean?)

Not the sword — the sword is consequential.

(not the sword...)

Not the throne — the throne is preferential.

(not the throne...)

Essential is the thing without credential.

No rune carved in my honor on the warrior's blade —

(no rune...)

No skald composed my saga while they feasted in my shade —

(no skald...)

No kenning naming Iðunn in the old trade —

(no kenning...)

Just the quiet work the whole immortal age was paid.

I came back from Þrymheimr in a nut-shell flying —

(in a shell...)

Landed on the wall-stones — gods around me crying

(landed home...)

Not from grief — from seeing what the grey was implying —

(they saw grey...)

Three days without the apples — gods were dying.

I opened the eski —

(opened it...)

Passed the apples down the bench — one — by — one —

(one by one...)

Watched the white hair darken — watched the shaking done —

(color returned...)

Watched the nine worlds' power source come back to the sun.

(Skál to the keeper! Skál — she held the age still!)

(Iðunn's apples kept the gods alive against their will!)

Drop — Instrumental

Chorus

They didn't guard me — didn't need to — until they did (until they did!)

The apples gone three days and every god slid (every god slid!)

Grey hair at the mead-bench — that's what my absence bid (my absence bid!)

Iðunn holds the age of gods inside the lid! (Hu-ha!)

Outro

(Iðunn! Iðunn!)

The eski is still open...

(Hu-ha!)

Every god in thirty-five songs

stayed young enough to speak

because of a small wooden box

and the one who tends it.

You never thought to ask.

(You never had to.

That was the point.)