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Through smokes of blót and icy stillness of Seta,

I see the desolate woods of all-wise Hag,

Cunning tongue casts the runes of Uþark,

Járnviðr blossoms well, full of the foul magick,

Free from wandering distraction of life,

Rattling the chains made of razor-blades,

Bizzare Myrkviðr’s ways are leading me,

Under the charm of Ironwood’s Woman,

Dark corners of the Earth are encircled,

By venom of Jörmungandr, born from her womb,

Pits of Helheimr have all that has value and worth,

Slayed and vexed by Hel, her half-dead bairn,

Stolen fire of stars is glowing under her cauldron,

Dragged by the Fenrisúlfr her rabid son,

Thrice burned and thrice born shining Witch,

Is leading me through the barbed wire and thorns,

As the coldest light within the blinding fumes of ignorance,

Dreadful maiden, mother and crone in one,

Is pouring the Eitr with the force of her breath,

Iron-Willed Gullveig, come now forth,

With the secret arts from the Outside,

Guide me with your Hidden Light