I know that I hung on a windy tree, nights all-nine,
wounded by the gar given to Odhinn, myself to myself,
on that tree, of which no man knoweth from what root it rises.
They dealt me no bread nor drinking horn,
I looked down; I took up the runes,
roaring I took them, and fell back again.
Hiding in the darkness solemn in his sorrow
Behind closed curtains and a locked door
Time that has passed me by has come haunting again
Lost voices in his mind but they are no longer alive
On the fields I prayed for my life
I remember how precious it was to me
In the trenches I would pray every night
But they are all dead they have abandoned me
It's the Waiting and the hatred that follows,
knowing there is nothing left
It's the Waiting all that I ask for is I wish I was dead
It's the Waiting the Angels of Glory appear before my eyes
It's the Waiting I fall to my knees I scream
"Please take me this time!"
The Angle of Death stood before the old man's eyes
"It's time for you to come home."
The old man layed down
and he died