No longer the sun rises Above the hills and trees.
The moon, lonely, shines, Casting its shadowy lines.
Dark and cold is the land, Where the Living cannot stand.
As the snow forever falls And the Ice climbs into walls,
Grass and roots cannot grow And the chilling winds freely sough.
A king, made of the snow so white, Is the one who once stole the light.
His heart is colder than the frost, And his soul a long time ago was lost
He had hoped the sun would heat His frozen mind into sleet.
However, no star nor fire Was hot enough for the breeze to tire.
One day, a mighty hero came, To claim back the sky’s flame.
Without a fight the tired king knelt, Hoping that his death would melt
The ice in his heart and in the land, And that snow would turn to sand.
Only when grow bushes and ferns And in the sky the sun returns,
Then he will be happy And his heart will be set free.
As the hero's blade flew to his chest, He knew he could finally rest.