He awoke from a deathly torpor,
in a realm beneath the seas.
An Unkerd roke cut upon,
pillars of obsidian.
Hailed he from cragg and gorse,
where welkin burled and tewitt lek'd.
From cauldrons deeply he drank,
in the gorsedd of his sires.

The blade is cast,
into the deep.
Sun wheel has turned,
the votive sought.

He wills to skell his ichor
and lie in that nithering berth

deep in the bog where the bone starts to fail

Isara creep down the fell
cascading gyhll and lime.
The cold path hews the man,
As the wind carves the mountain.

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