Winter's Gate, Pt. 2

And there amidst the fog
a solemn mountain rises.
Its pinnacle touching the grey sky,
silent spruces guarding the shores.

There waits a grinning
prize worthy of legend.
There waits a golden wolf,
a beast with six legs.

There waits a grinning prize!

And yet I search on,
and yet I wait to find
your shadow amidst
the darkest night.

And yet I search on,
and yet I wait to find
your shadow amidst
the darkest night.

Still I bear the flowers of pain,
and still I bear flowers of solitude.
Still I bear the flowers of pain,
and still I bear flowers of solitude.

What trick of Gods is this?
Rewards and riches here
within our reach, yet not
within our grasp.

Yet not within our grasp!

And yet I search on,
and yet I wait to find
your shadow amidst
the darkest night.

And yet I search on,
and yet I wait to find
a place where no
sorrow creeps in.

And yet it wrings me
like a strange cold hand.
And yet it burns me
like a viper’s tongue.

Better it would be to lie
on bed of silt and watch
the moon’s face from
under the waves.

Better it would be
to rest on bed of mire
inside the ocean’s womb,
dreaming of days long gone.

Days long gone!
Sunless, starless,
pathless is the way.