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On darkened wood, the deck is laid
A tapestry the Norns have made
Seventy-eight whispers, soft and low
To show me where the threads will go
A man hangs from the world-ash tree
One eye is given up to see
He doesn't struggle, doesn't fight
Just waits for wisdom in the fading light
A sacrifice to understand
The runes held in his own still hand
A single card, a single thread
Echoing what the wise ones said
Oh, seventy-eight whispers in the air
A pattern of hope and of despair
I'm searching for the strands of Wyrd
In every image, every word
The lightning strikes a crown of stone
The mighty fall from a high-flung throne
A sudden crash, a cleansing fire
Burning down a false desire
What's built on pride cannot remain
Washed clean by the coming rain
Another card, another thread
Echoing what the wise ones said
Oh, seventy-eight whispers in the air
A pattern of hope and of despair
I'm searching for the strands of Wyrd
In every image, every word
But is the tapestry complete?
Or is there room for my own two feet?
Does this path show what must be?
Or only what is meant for me... to see?
Oh, seventy-eight whispers in the air
A pattern of hope and of despair
I'm searching for the strands of Wyrd
In every image, every word
Every word
The cards are silent now
The whispers fade
On darkened wood