Lyrics
The year lies still, its breath undone,
the world forgets which way to turn.
A single ember marks the sun,
as dusk prepares the dark to burn.
We sweep the floor to chase the ghosts,
the ash recalls each hidden sin.
The night collects what matters most,
and weighs the dust we carry in.
The Hunt rides low with hollow sound,
black hounds that breathe the winter’s rage.
We bar the doors and trust the ground,
for gods walk freely in this stage.
No wheel may turn, no loom may run,
for fate lies sleeping in the seam.
The silence locks away the sun,
and night becomes a waking dream.
Twelve nights where gods and mortals meet,
where riddles bloom in ash and flame.
Where every echo marks a beat,
and every shadow knows your name.
We watch the cattle breathe in frost,
for beasts speak truths we dare not claim.
A restless hoof foretells what’s lost,
a gentle lowing whispers flame.
The dead walk close on winter’s thread,
their steps like whispers on the floor.
We leave a candle for the dead,
and sweep the threshold one time more.
We judge the vows we meant to keep,
the ones that cracked beneath our pride.
The night grows sharp, the breath grows deep,
for nothing false can ever hide.
Twelve nights where smoke reveals the truth,
where dreams turn iron, cold and clear.
You weigh the age, you test the youth,
and carve the shape of coming year.
A dark coil lingers at the door,
the Wind-Wife hums her lullaby.
She counts our faults to even score,
and folds the old year in a sigh.
At dawn the dead release their claim,
the Hunt retreats to frozen heights.
The smoke grows pale, the sky grows flame,
and fate gives back the stolen nights.
Twelve nights where worlds divide and blend,
where smoke foretells the year to be.
You break what must, you heal, you mend —
and set the dreaming spirit free.
Twelve nights have taught the silent way,
and left their runes in newborn day.