I know myself hanging there,
on that windy tree,
whose roots are unknown,
a sacrifice of myself to myself,
Wounded by my spear Gungnir,
for nine long nights and days I hung,
No food nor drink was brought to me,
Sinking into death they appeared,
Reaching out with a scream,
I grasped the runes,
and sunk from the tree,
with a sigh.

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Banished for an act not committed,

I am cursed by my fate,

A prophecy they said,

foretold by the Norns,

of me devouring Allfather.

Cursed I am,

by my blood.

Son of Chaos,

Mischief was expected,

I am not one for tricks,

Despite my wily father.

Cursed I am,

by my strength

and pride.

They used this against me,

told me it was a test of strength.

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