Of all the torments of the north
I hold the wind most grim
Scything the very hope from my heart
tears of ice thrown raging back
to scour my soul
folorn curses fail and falter
till mute I quail before its barren ire
eye imploring mercy
from uncaring natures might
are blinded by its savagery
As it tears away my sight
Of all the torments of the North
I hold the wind most grim