Crown of Thunder

Where the old roads split beneath the mountain,
I follow carved stars through the rain.

You hold the map with the burned-out edges,
Three names worn thin by time.
A bronze-winged hawk above the doorway,
A river marked in red wine.

You say the buried kings are sleeping,
But their doors are split with gold.
I take your hand; the stone is shaking—
Let the oldest tale unfold!

Whoa-oh-oh, we ride where the lost gods gather,
Whoa-oh-oh, past the edge of the known.
Raise your eyes to the crown of thunder,
We will not leave the dark alone!

You read the runes by a torch in the hollow,
Each letter a tooth in the stone.
A giant’s chain lies across the passage,
Its links as wide as your bones.

You hear the sea beneath the mountain,
You feel the northern waters rise.
I call your name; the walls surrender—
We chase the fire in the skies!

Whoa-oh-oh, we ride where the lost gods gather,
Whoa-oh-oh, past the edge of the known.
Raise your eyes to the crown of thunder,
We will not leave the dark alone!

At the end of the stair, a door of cedar,
Your palm finds the mark of the sun.
You turn the key; the dawn comes pouring—
The age of silence is done!

Whoa-oh-oh, we rise where the lost gods gather,
Whoa-oh-oh, and the sealed gates are thrown!
Raise your voice to the crown of thunder,
We bring the old names home!
Whoa-oh-oh, we ride where the dawn burns brighter,
Whoa-oh-oh, with the choir above!
You and I, through the age of wonder—
We carry the myths we love!
We carry the myths we love!