Lyrics
IntroThe 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.
Verse 1We sweep the floor to chase the ghosts,
the ash remembers every sin.
The night collects what matters most,
and weighs the dust we carry in.
We burn the spruce, the witching pine,
the smoke curls like a watching eye.
It circles once — a warning sign —
then drifts into the starless sky.
Verse 2The Hunt rides low with hollow sound,
black hounds that breathe the winter's rage.
We bar the doors; we trust the ground,
for gods go wandering in this stage.
Their iron hooves split frost and bone,
their shadows stain the drifting snow.
We place a gift on ancient stone,
to calm the storm-horn’s ghostly blow.
BridgeNo wheel may turn, no loom may run,
for fate itself sleeps in the seam.
The silence weighs a world undone —
the night becomes a waking dream.
ChorusTwelve 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.
Verse 3We watch the cattle breathe in frost,
for beasts speak truths we dare not claim.
A restless hoof foretells what’s lost,
a gentle lowing speaks of flame.
The dreams we dream are not our own —
each night becomes the coming year.
A cradle shakes, a seed is sown,
and winter leans so we may hear.
Verse 4The 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.
A knock at night is not a friend,
a sigh outside may be a sign.
The twelfth month murmurs at its end,
and fate drinks deeply from its brine.
BridgeWe judge the vows we meant to keep,
the ones that broke beneath our pride.
The night grows sharp, the breath grows deep,
for nothing false can ever hide.
ChorusTwelve nights where smoke reveals the truth,
where dreams turn iron, sharp and clear.
You weigh the age, you test the youth,
and carve the shape of coming year.
Verse 5A last dark coil around the door,
the Wind-Wife hums her lullaby.
She counts our faults to even score,
and folds the old year in a sigh.
She brushes ember from our hair,
she weighs the sins we tried to feign.
And if the night finds judgement fair,
she lets us rise from what remains.
Verse 6At dawn the dead withdraw their claim,
the Hunt rides back to frozen heights.
The smoke grows pale, the sky grows flame,
and fate gives back the stolen nights.
The house exhales — its spirit mends —
the future waits in newborn light.
We step where omen, dream, and end
have shaped our path from darkest night.
ChorusTwelve nights where worlds divide and blend,
where smoke spells out the year
You break what must, you heal, you mend —
and set the dreaming spirit free.
OutroTwelve nights have taught the silent way,
and left their runes in newborn day.