when I was a child sat upon my mother’s knee 
by firelight she spoke of rights, and ancient history 
and one phrase she repeated though I knew not what it meant 
be safe, da’len, young lethallan,
may the dread wolf never catch your scent. 

and as I grew I thought I knew the path my life would take 
but when the dream broke open, only I was left awake 
and then you took my hand and taught me how to turn the key 
I held it, how was I to know,
I’d let the wolf catch wind of me? 

I took up arms, I lead the charge, some called me prophet, blessed 
and by my side you guided, wise and seemingly guileless 
but the [bad word] s not always obvious, not written on the skin 
sometimes to let the [bad [bad word] out,
you have to let the [bad word] in. 

you called me “ma vhenan” and showed me worlds I’d never known 
lands of mists and memories, of faded sky and stone 
then with words so soft and sad, you left me in that glen 
and though you brought me low I know,
I’d let the dread wolf in again. 

my love has vanished through the veil so now I’m stark and bare 
at night I go to sleep and dream and hope he’ll meet me there 
he wandered from the waking world, I know not where he went 
but I’d be with my dread wolf now,
if I could only catch his scent.