Let your hand guide me
Rest it on weary blood.
Each step is curse
As the crow shrill laugh.
The white wind calls
Let the wolf and the owl answer.
It beckons me forwards, the never-ending fight
The time of the chill, the flame and the loss
Forwards, forwards we trundle.
Careful in our plans.
The pieces move slowly, tipping another
But the pieces are too quick,
Tides turn unreliably.
Each little red dot falls in turn.
They are stronger then we,
United in stance against our scramble.
Four corners to a box, but the box is not square.
Its chipping at our stone
Slowly and slowly
Weary blood falls.