Beyond the wall, the fog was thick
The air was heavy, silent and chill
I was upon an island in the mist
A standing stone, high upon the hill
Like a landmark or a warning
I looked back, i found that, i was alone
I stumbled forward, chilled to the bone
A voice, deep and cold, that seemed
To come out of the ground
Iron grip, an icy touch, froze my bones
I dared not move, flat on my back, upon cold stone
The darkness was slowly giving way
I turned, in the cold glow, i saw them lay beside
On their backs, deathly pale, also clad in white
A cold murmur rising, falling
Sometimes high in the air, sometimes like
A low moan from the ground
Hard, grim, cold words, so heartless
Formless stream of sad sounds
Cold be hand and heart and bone
And cold be sleep under stone
Never more to wake on stony bed, never
Till, the sun fails, and the moon is dead
