Symptom - Dodheimsgard

Wonder do they stride at all
Who bore him over her glistening ground
I wonder do
I sense the breath of dragons steering sound
I catch the gust with my hands like an open bowl
And hope the beast never stills the wailing of his mould
I wonder does it pour me something opaque in mirrormere
And grace this that has lasted for quite
Some time will it last throughout all days
The sound turns undressed back to me like beryls floating in a wide stream
I wonder is this the final chance to fulfill the golden steem
The sound of finches ledged to the skin
Defy this pledged cry never has
T really leaned to me as a burden or an obvious lie
I wonder if her silver horns bestow poison into my chalice for
I feel the stains like
I've been touched though wounded not from foreign malice
Be with me and feel with me the sketch of your enchanting sky so
I can hold you in my arms tight until the day
I die