When Yule fires burn most brightly
For the frigid northern gale,
Behind shutters bolted tightly
'Gainst the blizzards icy wail...
Beneath that song that winter sings,
Comes the faintest distant sound,
An eight legged hoof beat rings
In time to ghostly baying hounds...
And finds thin the veil between the living,
And those that dwell in barrow mounds.
Slaeghunder
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