Prophecy 2: Salutations, I greet thee

Her white hair bestows the token of flight.

All compasses no longer north
The screams follow
The signs come with wicked blades
She who casts storms
Her fury of reckoning comes
She is the queen
Her throne of skulls bleed
In the thunder snare
She the fate of late white hot pin pricks down the spine

The clock slows and winds begin to shake
You will her call

She whose might breaks souls
Winter fury and spiteful wrath

She not be the banshed queen
But the keeper of gateways
Follow the signs
She greets thee

Tonight the miracle divine
She who weaves bells lined three

Tonight the spell bind vow
Tomorrow the raven cries
Third day the parting of seas
This thine prophecy
This is the bite
With loving grace

Chose the sanguine dart
Choices divine
Call upon it with flock of winged step
You will know
You will know