Listen well, child,
Do not fail yourself to think that you could bind me with a name
Do not be the fool who walks where the dead do not dare to tread
I am the fury of a winter’s night, colder than hate, longer than eternity
My song is the storm of a summer’s eve, the thunder that rattles mountains and burns cities
Kings tremble and fall in my gaze
Gods bend the knee to my voice
I do not need your prayers
I do not need your adoration
All that was
All that is
All that will be
Rests in the palm of my hand
And so I say again
Listen well, child
For this will be the end of you