Peering from the adder pit,
Plied by the restless grime,
I stem the bloated rivers
That furnish Nifleheim.

Silage soaked in scarlet waves
Slake my coiled cavalcade:
Grafvolluth, Graback, Goin, Moin—
We clutch each rancid human pawn.
And constrict with sinuous scorn…

Between the chews of corporal fill,
I gnaw at the root of Yggdrasil.
Dainn, Dvalinn, Duneyr, Durathor—
Swindler stags for a mending whore.

Dread Biter I am He
Who stirs the cauldron black.
The eagle's maw is foaming
From shifty Ratatosk.

My innate thirst for flesh
Is assuaged by the scythe's thresh.

At Ragnarok I rise
With my cadre of the dead—
We suffuse with bouts of blight;
We absorb the hollow dregs.

When war disbands the land,
And the gods each other maul,
I'll watch with rasping fangs
And seize them where they fall.

And when the anarchy is discarded,
I'll sustain to snare the departed.
My innate thirst for flesh
Is assuaged by the cemetery's excess…

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