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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