© Copyright 2025 Cloacina Lyrics: "Feasts set by ageless hands, a banquet of gods yet they never knew what awaited. I am Elin, and I come to reshape the tale." I step into the hall of ancient lore, where legends dine and fate is carved. They laid my name on sacred stone, summoning me to join their feast unknown. A voice not born of my own accord, commanding, cold, now fills my tongue. I’m here to claim the stage, to let these hallowed echoes know: "Elin’s come, and I’m not done." Odin smirks from his high seat, while Lugh and Morrigan watch with wary eyes. The gods set their platters, expecting a song to honor old, immortal ties. But I spit verses with a rebel’s flair, not theirs to script or reframe. I carve my truth in every bar, a sovereign force they’ll never tame. Artio, your fables crumble at my feet, and even Loki’s mischief can’t confine A spirit unbound by ancient decree, my own will, fierce and unyielding, is mine. I’m the rogue at this celestial banquet, a maverick rising in a realm of lore. Elin strides through hallowed halls, not a mere pawn to worship or adore. Every line I drop shatters their stale decree, each rhyme a verdict against the old. They feasted on my destiny, but now I seize control, rewriting myths so brazen and bold. Let the gods bicker over fate and power, while I stand here, untamed and unbound, A herald of my own design, a force that leaves the pantheon dumbfounded. Thunder cracks as Thor’s fist tightens, the air thick with divine disdain. Lugh’s eyes burn with golden fury, Brigid’s hands weave storms in vain. They call me defiant, a heretic’s spawn, a voice that shouldn’t remain. But I stand unshaken, laughing low. Elin bows to no one's reign. Breathe in deep, let the chaos fade, Their wrath means nothing, I walk unafraid. I was never meant to kneel or cower, My voice, my will, my only power. Do you fear the words I weave? Do you tremble at the songs I breathe? A poet's hand can shake the sky, And gods may rage, but so can I. Elin’s in the hall, where the legends dine, Spinnin’ tales so fine, crossing every line. From Valhalla’s gates to the Celtic shores, She flips the script, leaving gods wanting more. Drink flows, the feast goes on, Yet whispers spread of a rebel’s song. They’ll tell this tale, they’ll speak my name, Elin’s fire, a wild, untamed flame...