The shadow's come to stay, in these coral bright halls,
It lingers and festers one stripped from its wounds.
And the mermaids lay gutted, but Oh can they sing,
For flowers that open in the light of the moon.
My shell is transparent, and I wake up to grit,
There is flame here, and the waves roll from hell.
Black and grey smoke, it weaves through the wind,
Reborn harder and stronger, all from Winterfell.
In dreams I sailed seas, with fire and sword,
What is dead may never die, but rises again.
But the ice reminds water: it's malleable and frail,
And the alive can be killed, over and over the same.
In dreams I rode wolves, with red leaves in my hands,
Now the smiles of dead brothers all leave me in pain.
The flayed man has no secrets, and sleep is no fort,
I will never know winter, nor the harsh autumn rain.
Should I stay, my lord, or tell me - where do I go?
Through the skull, my Reek, and on to the moors.
But tentacles lay waiting, and the branches do snag,
My boat is just sand, all mercies ignored.
And the fields are just soot, where no flora grows,
I can't think, my lord, for the voice there is yours.