You are
The ire
That burns the ice
In my gaze

The bones
My wolf dog grinds down
With his fangs

You are the dust
Left in my mortar and pestle

You are the ash
Left by the lightning
From my storm.

I call it
I call it
I call it to thee
I call it
I call it
I call it to thee.

I am the quaking, I am the end.
I am the shaking, I am the bend.
I am the wind, the thunder,
The rumble
That breaks your bones,
You scream,
You beg
But fire will not relent,
And you will not forget.

You have crossed
The wrong Storm Siren.