ÖRLÖG

Intro

Urd... Verdandi... Skuld...

Every thread has a beginning.

Verse 1

Before my mother spoke my name,

Three sisters measured out my thread.

Every glory, every shame,

Already woven, gold and red.

I thought I chose the roads I walked,

I thought I broke my own two hands.

But every door where I have knocked

Was carved before my first breath began.

Pre-Chorus

Down by the well, where the world-tree grows,

They weave in silence, row by row.

(Urd... Verdandi... Skuld...)

And no one asks them, and no one knows.

Chorus

Örlög! It's already written. (Written, written)

Every fall of mine was sewn.

Örlög! The thread is hidden. (Hidden, hidden)

I dance on strings I've never known.

Pull me up, pull me down,

The weavers never make a sound.

Örlög! (Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh)

Verse 2

So I climbed to the roots where the cold springs run,

And I saw my life on the loom laid bare:

Every love I'd lose, every war I'd won,

And a single knot at the end, somewhere.

I begged the sisters, "Give me more,"

They didn't blink, they didn't slow.

The shears were lying on the floor,

One cut, and I could end the show.

Pre-Chorus

Down by the well, where the world-tree grows,

They weave in silence, row by row.

(Urd... Verdandi... Skuld...)

And no one asks them, and no one knows.

Chorus

Örlög! It's already written. (Written, written)

Every fall of mine was sewn.

Örlög! The thread is hidden. (Hidden, hidden)

I dance on strings I've never known.

Pull me up, pull me down,

The weavers never make a sound.

Örlög! (Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh)

Break

Urd... Verdandi... Skuld...

Break

Urd... Verdandi... Skuld...

The shears... or the loom?

Bridge

I reached for the blades with a shaking hand,

One cut to be free of it all.

But cutting the thread is not taking a stand,

It's just one more written fall.

So I dropped the shears, and I took my seat,

Third chair by the sisters three.

You can't unwrite, you can't retreat,

But the hands on the loom can be

Mine.

Final Chorus

Örlög! It's still being written. (Written, written)

Every thread is mine to sew.

Örlög! No longer hidden. (Hidden, hidden)

I weave the strings, I run the show.

Pull me up? Not a sound.

The weaver doesn't fall, he winds around.

Örlög! (Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh)

Outro

Urd...