Oh Storyteller old and frail,
Enrapture with another tale.
With bated breath we orderly
Follow your twisted path.
Onward through the thorn and sword,
Over hills, across the fjord.
What ecstasy, what tragedy,
Will await us at the last?
Let us all mirror the thread.
Through strength of arm, will of head.
Your narrative a tool to forge
A beauty in our way.
On we go with stars and flame,
Nothing will ever be the same,
Endlessness a prize just past
The giants made to slay.
Careful now what yarn we spin,
Bloodied, realized, turned within.
Each path leading exactly where
We hoped that they would lead.
Oh storyteller quick and bold,
We so despise how you unfold,
But ever the captured audience,
Shall attend you as you bleed.