Melancholy, the concealing dark.

         I sacrificed the winds of time, to follow my comrades home.
For alone in the endless lonely nights is not how I'd wished to roam.
Where is my knife, and where is my robe? Cold is the sea I rode.
What I'd give again to live in life and feel the fires burning within my soul.

         I begged the winds of time to devour my flesh and bone,
for alone was my heart, fallen apart, and nowhere ever felt like home.
No taverns, or woodland or battlefields nor the safety of a bed.
No amount of mead, trees or bread, could wedge the grips bearing irrationality in my head.

         I became the winds of time, to liberate the ones I loved.
For I was cautious of all that's sacred, should this meaning I fall short of.
I wander alone the endless night, my footfalls upon an indistinguishable road,
which would be lit - if it did exist, by the fires in my soul.