In far-off lands, the serpent's den
Whence eastern dragons take their form,
An iron palace from which they spy,
Their beady eyes set on the West.
The chest is hard, yet from within
A young Norse god assumes the helm,
Hearing the call, his hand he lends,
To wield the axe for rights that stir.
In Bakhmut's hold, where chaos reigns,
A steadfast kin doth cling to hope,
As ravens swarm above their heads,
Unyielding bear, the battle roars.
