Thane of Swans

He seeks no mountain pass
Nor forests so great
As to forbid the lands to gather upon
A call of ancient seas to
Carry us to where winds shall decree

No folk of the lands
Nor folk of the trees
Fate gives us seas
And ships set us free
Now all lies dead
Stripped of last breath
Flames to sunset
In time we forget

He, he who stands before the lone tree
He who holds the lock, chest, and the key
Glory waits for him
As awesome as the setting sun
Jaded one, gently sink into the sun
And as the dawn sees the last king
Never shall the Thane give unto him
The Cygnet horn shall blow
Endless as the silver crow, evermore
Never see the hollow shores