Gjallarhorn

Intro

(Gjallarhorn! Gjallarhorn!)

I hear the grass grow and the wool on the sheep...

(Hu-ha!) I need no more rest than a bird, no sleep —

Nine mothers of wave-water gave me the deep —

(Gjallarhorn!) I've been watching since before your gods could speak...

Verse 1

Nine mothers bore me from the edge of the ocean —

Gjálp, Greip, Eistla — all wave-motion,

Eyrgjafa, Ulfrún, deep-water devotion,

Angeyja, Imðr, Járnsaxa — nine in formation.

Born at the world's rim where the salt meets the starlight,

Suckled on the sea-strength and the cold of the dark night.

I need less sleep than the seabird catching airlight —

My eyes cut the distance from the midday to the far-right.

Himinbjörg sits hard at the edge of the heaven-shelf,

Gulltoppr stabled underneath and I stand here myself.

Bifröst burning underneath the foot and the step-self —

Every world below me like a library on the shelf.

I hear Níðhöggr gnawing on the root underground,

I hear every broken oath in every Thing-ground.

I hear Loki moving when he doesn't make a sound —

That's the one that tells me when Gjallarhorn comes round.

Pre-Chorus

Something shifted south of the Bifröst in the grey (in the grey)

Loki's seal-shape cutting through the kelp and the spray.

Brísingamen in his jaw — been watching since the day —

He doesn't know I'm watching but I'm always in the way. (uh!)

Chorus

I see it all — ten thousand miles of dark (miles of dark!)

Every fire that'll burn to the last cold spark (last cold spark!)

I hold the horn that ends it when the wolf leaves the mark (leaves the mark!)

Gjallarhorn — one breath — and the worlds come apart! (Hu-ha!)

Verse 2

I watched the sun go dark over Fimbulvetr's second year,

I watched Baldur fall and kept my post without a tear.

Not cold — just purposed: every signal must be clear,

The watchman who abandons post makes everything unclear.

I tracked Loki seal-form through the Skagerrak tidal drift,

Shifted to my own seal-shape and closed the rift —

Jaw to jaw in saltwater — four tides and a cliff —

Got Brísingamen back and made the god's gift.

Odin calls the einherjar — I see them drilling still,

Five hundred forty doors and every hall built to fill.

Ragnarök's a schedule, not a prophecy to kill —

I've watched it from the mountain-edge and mapped it with my will.

Every frost-giant mustering in Jötunheimr's east,

Naglfar hull half-finished — still awaiting the deceased.

Every untrimmed fingernail accelerates the feast —

I've calculated when the mooring rope gets released.

Pre-Chorus

Something shifted south of the Bifröst in the grey (in the grey)

Loki's seal-shape cutting through the kelp and the spray.

Brísingamen in his jaw — been watching since the day —

He doesn't know I'm watching but I'm always in the way. (uh!)

Chorus

I see it all — ten thousand miles of dark (miles of dark!)

Every fire that'll burn to the last cold spark (last cold spark!)

I hold the horn that ends it when the wolf leaves the mark (leaves the mark!)

Gjallarhorn — one breath — and the worlds come apart! (Hu-ha!)

Bridge

There's a moment on the mountain no one sees —

(no one sees...)

Not Odin in his high-seat — just the freeze.

(just the freeze...)

The second that the wolf-chain hits the ground —

(hits the ground...)

I don't rage, I don't mourn, I don't make a sound.

I just lift the horn — cold rim to the lip —

(cold rim...)

Every world holds its breath in the grip.

(holds its breath...)

Nine mothers in the wave-crash hear it first —

(hear it first...)

The watchman kept his post — now comes the worst.

One breath.

(one breath...)

Everything that ever lived looks up.

(Gjallarhorn! Gjallarhorn!)

(The watchman kept the gate — now he gives it up!)

Drop — Instrumental

Chorus

I see it all — ten thousand miles of dark (miles of dark!)

Every fire that'll burn to the last cold spark (last cold spark!)

I hold the horn that ends it when the wolf leaves the mark (leaves the mark!)

Gjallarhorn — one breath — and the worlds come apart! (Hu-ha!)

Outro

(Gjallarhorn! Gjallarhorn!)

The horn is at the lip...

(Hu-ha!)

Nine mothers in the deep —

The watchman never slept.

One breath.

(Skál.)