She wears diamonds on her fingers,
With roughed, calloused hands.
On each toe, a ruby, Her feet unused to dance.
The Midgardians would laugh,
If they were to see.
Asgard will fall to her,
On every bended knee.
A siren's call awakens him,
So blinded they all will be.
An heir to the kingdom,
She shall bring forth to thee.
A golden-haired child,
Yggdrasil will shake its leaves.
The old man in the hall,
Will no longer drink his mead.
The child and the old man,
Fighting for the throne.
One of which will die by fire,
Ashes will be his bone.
The old man's child,
Along with his own heir,
Will rule the realms of nine,
And open every thoroughfare.
Chaos will descend,
Through every open door.
Then once the mischief is over,
The child will be no more.