---

He was hanging on a tree.
Wind was blowing, mastered branches
and dark clouds on the sky.
Brigit flashes raging.

For nine days and long nights,
he was speared and bleeding.
Suffering for better future.
His own victim, Oden.

For those days had no food
no beverage tested his lips.
Just staring into darkness
foggy depths down below.

Sacrifiction fulfilled purpose,
when wise Oden behold ruins,
with effort released them.
And he was freed for way back home.

It is said that you have godlike powers
of rhyme and singing if drinking from Odraedir.
The more you drink the better you sing
So taste, this fine mead untakes your fear.

Odraedir, the mead vessel.
Kvasir’s blood with honey.
Guarded by Bolthorn‘s son.
Two dwarfs mixed the potion.

Once Oden found the shelter.
As in haste drunk all mead,
a few drops fell to Midgard.
Poetism unleashed…

It is said that you have godlike powers
of rhyme and singing if drinking from Odraedir.
The more you drink the better you sing
So taste, this fine mead untakes your fear.

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.