The sword sharp shines
in the river brine
that is divine,
In the darkest water fall.
its blade shines so bright,
Its blade shines so bright.

In this cold Winter
where the souls rise
The dead rocking
Out of their caskets.
Out of their caskets.

It seeks holder
who may be so much bolder,
yet is much colder
than any slimey merchant fox.
Slicing the leaf.
Slicing the leaf.

In this cold Winter
where the souls rise,
the dead rocking
Out of their caskets,
Out of their caskets

The dead do rise.
The dead do rise.