Intro
(No sword! No sword!)
I gave it away — and I'd give it again...
(Hu-ha!) Sat on the high-seat — saw her through the fen —
Álfheimr behind me — Jötunheimr when —
(No sword!) Some prices you pay without knowing when...
Verse 1
I run the rain-engine — the harvest is my ledger,
Gullinbursti's bristles cut the dark at the edge-curve.
Skíðblaðnir folded in the pocket of my pleasure —
Ship that holds an army packed to thumbnail measure.
Álfheimr gifted at the first tooth — that's my kingdom,
Light-elf territory — golden-green — my freedom.
My sword swings itself — self-guided, self-defeating —
Every iron in the nine worlds hearing its own beating.
Then I sat where I shouldn't — Odin's seat — one moment —
Looked through all nine worlds in a single eye-component.
South edge of Jötunheimr — hall-light — one component —
Gerðr crossing the courtyard — every plan got broken.
Arms like the northern lights when she lifted the linen,
Light came off her movement like the sun through the linen.
I'm the god of the harvest and the golden beginning —
Took one look and knew exactly what I was giving.
Pre-Chorus
Sent Skírnir south with the gold and the apple-ring (apple-ring)
Eleven of each — she refused everything.
He came back empty — said: the sword's the only thing —
I held it one last time — felt the edge — let it sing. (uh!)
Chorus
Sword for the giantess — I knew what it cost (what it cost!)
Self-fighting blade — the greatest weapon I've lost (weapon lost!)
Ragnarök coming — no steel to exhaust (to exhaust!)
Freyr fights Surtr with an antler — worth the cost! (Hu-ha!)
Verse 2
You want to talk about a warrior's calculus?
Not every weapon given up is callous thus —
Some trades are made with eyes wide open, serious —
The price was on the table and I read it clear for us.
Surtr's blade longer than the night that swallows morning,
Fire-giant built from the age before the dawning.
I've watched the muster in Múspellsheim without mourning —
Counted every flame-sword — got the antler out before warning.
An antler — yes — you heard the lyric correctly —
Bone against the fire-blade — I walked to that directly.
Not because I'm foolish — I calculated perfectly:
The sword for Gerðr was worth the math — I read it perfectly.
The god who rules the harvest knows the cost of every season —
You plant the seed in frozen ground for one specific reason.
What grows back after Ragnarök needs more than iron's treason —
It needs the god who paid the price beyond all sword-edged reason.
Pre-Chorus
Sent Skírnir south with the gold and the apple-ring (apple-ring)
Eleven of each — she refused everything.
He came back empty — said: the sword's the only thing —
I held it one last time — felt the edge — let it sing. (uh!)
Chorus
Sword for the giantess — I knew what it cost (what it cost!)
Self-fighting blade — the greatest weapon I've lost (weapon lost!)
Ragnarök coming — no steel to exhaust (to exhaust!)
Freyr fights Surtr with an antler — worth the cost! (Hu-ha!)
Bridge
You want to know the moment on the high-seat?
(the moment...)
Nine worlds spread below like a cold heartbeat.
(nine worlds...)
Every god, every frost-giant, every fate —
(every fate...)
And one woman crossing a courtyard at the gate.
I'm the sunlight god — I know what makes things grow —
(what makes things grow...)
I know the difference between gold and what's below.
(what's below...)
The sword was iron — brilliant, yes — but iron.
(just iron...)
What I saw across nine worlds was worth the buying.
Skírnir brought it south — I never asked the ending —
(never asked...)
Some prices only make sense in the spending.
(in the spending...)
Surtr waits with the fire-blade — that's my limit —
(Skál to the trade! Skál — love stood in it!)
(The antler in the fire — Freyr walked with it!)
Drop — Instrumental
Chorus
Sword for the giantess — I knew what it cost (what it cost!)
Self-fighting blade — the greatest weapon I've lost (weapon lost!)
Ragnarök coming — no steel to exhaust (to exhaust!)
Freyr fights Surtr with an antler — worth the cost! (Hu-ha!)
Outro
(No sword! No sword!)
Surtr on the plain...
(Hu-ha!)
Antler in my hand.
The harvest god runs toward the flame.
No regrets.
(Skál.)
