Ofard - Words From The Dead (The Living Won’t Listen)

[She is dead. One among thousands of people in Stockholm, New York, Tokyo or whichever cosmopolis you can think of. She is
ancient and too far gone. She is dead to the world.

To all bystanders she is just scum. An old beggar talking madness and reeking of piss. A walking corpse, always in the middle.
But she has been here longer than we can imagine. Haven`t you noticed her? Don`t you hear her singing and screaming,
whispering and stammering the truth of what is to come? Then, my friend, you are just like the rest. You breathe, but her words
still fall on dead ears.]

Wolves in the temple we are,
Locked jaw to jaw in vile opposition,
Blemish the gifts of the gods
Heaving our poison in clear-water rivers

Vargar i véum

The black sword of Surtr is ours,
Brandished to scorch our way through the masses.
The false tongue of Loki is ours,
The lies that we tell prove our best allies
Words from the dead

The living won ́t listen
Fear - our deepest fears

Are written in this saga,
Seer - please talk to me
The impending doom is near

Forsworn and furtive we stand,
Patching up holes on the ships that seclude us,
Harvesting nails till the end,
The hour is nigh, the eagre ́s upon us

Langrækið hafið

We battered and savaged the norns,
Took over the wheel, entangling our life-threads,
Fire and steel make the law:
Each pays its toll or burns down to ashes

Words from the dead
The living won ́t listen

Fear - our deepest fears
Are written in this saga,
Seer - please talk to me
The impending doom is near.

[Segersäll: Vocals, guitars, irish bouzouki, tin whistle, duduk.
Morten Gråfãll: Nyckelharpa.
Guests:
Matias Taubas Oyola: Bass / Pablo Taubas Oyola: Drums / Johanna Ribnikov Gunnarsson: backing vocals
Words and music by Segersäll. Arranged by Segersäll and Morten Gråfäll.]