Full in the wake of winter we stood,
In the face of impossible odds,
The frost of our fury was froth on our breath,
To these mortals we were as gods.
Come then and let it be in winter,
Full in the rage of the storm,
We shall be waiting to send you to hell,
It is there you will only be warm.
We are the children of winter,
The frozen wastes they are ours,
Where metal rusts and flesh is hoary,
You cannot defeat these powers.
Come winter we shall bare our teeth,
Neath the cloak of autumn's leaf,
Press hard the long coats in the trench,
And give them no relief.
He shall sally forth out of the north,
With an icy wind that's raw,
Then in his wake the spring shall break,
And with it the hope of thaw.
Yet in every muddy trench a fetid smell,
From the cold and bloated dead,
Our hand has dealt the blow of frost,
And the enemy's courage is fled.