The monster with the noble face

Was always told to know his place;

Too proud to beg an hour's grace,

For gods must never fall.

A day he wore his father's crown,

The weight of glory dragging down,

A sea of gold in which to drown -

And wonder at his fall.

Sighing then, and desperate he

Resolved that home should never be

And mourned the bloodied majesty

And splendor of his fall.

This his dream, cold heart's desire:

To burn his fate upon a pyre,

And prove the Truth to be a liar;

Never more to fall.

To rule the All with winter's flame,

He played a desperate, twisted game,

Though long ago his demons came;

Already doomed to fall.

The weight of souls is settled stone,

Cold in his heart and blood and bone,

As, proud, he bears the stain, alone:

For only weak men fall.

'A thousand years for your disgrace.'

There may be pain in Odin's face,

But if tears fell, they left no trace.

  And so, the mighty fall.

The footsteps fade; how silently

Descends the dark eternity,

And echoing finality:

No deeper place to fall.

The days go down into the West,

The years run on, he finds no rest

'Til brother's love is manifest:

'I'll never let you fall.'