[A dark folk / epic ballad feel – imagine deep drums, low chanting, and the crackle of flame] [Verse 1] From the south he comes, the blackened one, Surtr walks with the sword of the sun. Muspel’s sons behind him ride, Flames that split the sky and the bridge of light. Stone mountains break, the heavens tear, The world awaits the scorching air. [Chorus] Burn, burn, the end is near, Surtr’s blade is the final seer. Pale Sinmara, lock and key, Keeper of the twig that none may free. When the rooster cries on Mímameiðr’s crown, Both of you will fall when the world goes down. [Verse 2] She waits in shadow, the pale gýgr, Nine locks seal what Loki forged. Lævateinn lies cold and still, Made by the doors of death and will. No hero takes it, no god lays claim— It sleeps beside her, whispering his name. [Chorus] Burn, burn, the end is near, Surtr’s blade is the final seer. Pale Sinmara, lock and key, Keeper of the twig that none may free. When the rooster cries on Mímameiðr’s crown, Both of you will fall when the world goes down. [Bridge] Freyr stands without his sword, Antler raised against the fire lord. One strike ends the god of green, Then Surtr turns and the earth is clean. No more spring, no more seed, Only ash where the old gods bleed. [Final Chorus / Outro] Burn, burn, the worlds consume, Surtr’s fire is the world’s last bloom. Sinmara’s silence, the locked refrain— When the flames die out, what will remain? From the sea a green land rises slow… But the black one and the pale one? No one will know.
