Odinsong

- Michael Sound

Odin hung on earthly tree,

pierced alone in agony.

No bread, no mead, no friendly call,

just silence deep and branches tall.

Nine nights, he swayed

where none could see,

to wrench the runes from mystery.

He gave himself to himself in pain,

and in that loss, the gods grew gain.

The runes rose up from root and bone,

not taught, but torn, not found, but known.

Now, we must do what he once dared.

Not hang the self, but have it bared.

To carve the runes upon the Tree,

each one a wound in memory.

For only thus, the truth is won.

Not read, but lived, one by one.

To speak the spell and set it free,

we hang the runes where hung the me.