A slow kill in the white, harsh realms, Whence wraiths breathe thy wilted valour, – Harbingers of a wretched hollowness –, Akin to wintry swirls of the Unlight's chant, The last flickering embers of a long forsaken foe ... Yet, amidst bitterness thou wander the path so cold! Life turns into perpetual frost and frost turns to eternal rime . Verily, Thurses plough their malice: Their bleak harvest, full of sorrow Strewn about thy years, Whilst Man weeps for the morrow And the morrow never nears ... Thither, unbound, the Wolf Approaches from the North; Venoms of a final winter's Jaws bathe the ground . Waging axes shatter, Kinships perish swiftly! Its tempest of a myriad spoiling onslaughts, While Hel calls mankind to final rest: May keen vigour salute the utter twilight! Anon, it were adders drink from the feeble wounds of thine! Seasons forced to writher, – all virtues swept away –, Nigh Fimbulwinter's dusk ... Transcendence ... A monumental wrath of thy Fallen ... Immortality ... At one with Vindsval's blight ... Serenity ... A mournful passing in dreadful grief ...