Mistur - Firstborn Son

Aligned at the shore
Gazing through the wind and waves
Under the morrow sky
Autumn clouds and pouring gray
Watchful and waiting
They all look forward to this day

Horizon holds promise
Of welcomed sight
Sails returning

His pallid eyes searched every place
But could not find the old man's face

The firstborn son of winter's twelve
A weakling built on fragile stem
Arrival came upon the shore
Brought in on land by wind and oars
At last

"Our fates lie in your hands"

First in line to greet his father
Wise and old with seasoned men

"He fell and died
On the sands and left you
The rule of house and lands
As he stood, now you must stand"

The stormy winds shall rip and tear
The crashing waves will grind and break
Foundations crumble under burden's weight
Until the weakling longs for the fire

"The boy won't live through winter"

A youngling without strength fell
His pyre roared fiery and bright
As it ignited
Smoke rose from his corpse
When he burned and scorched
Until the last shred was gone

"Father I have let you down
And with you house and land will fail
In death I know,
I cannot lift the curse upon our lands
Until the sun has withered, unless they die
Under that sky
Will be a miserable place
A grim and desolate sight
A torment that cannot be escaped"