Hermóðr.

The wavering arrows that miss their target,
Symphonic in their crowding irony,
Blessed in purpose for infinite strife,
Blessed be the omniscience of faith,
With the trials and forgotten tribulations,
Forged by calling fanatics for yearn,
But the memories will persist,
Longer than the confusion of combat,
Such being intricacies of forever fate;
Yes, those arrows shall waver.