[Intro]
[Fingerpicked guitar and bowed lyre play in a close wooden room; a single horn is placed on the table.]

[Verse 1]
The last hall stood with a scorched west wall,
Its rafters bent, but refusing to fall.
We barred the doorway with benches and hide,
Then carried the frostbitten inside.
We set twelve horns where the fire gave light
And left one chair empty at the end of the night.

[Verse 2]
The first horn rose for Torvald the smith,
Whose hammer had armed every household and kith.
The second for Ragna, who stayed at the well
And hauled water upward while burning roofs fell.
We drank without boasting or battle cries;
The fire drew rivers on everyone's eyes.

[Pre-Chorus]
Name them slowly.
Name them clear.
Let the absent
Gather here.

[Chorus]
Twelve horns on the table, one chair by the flame,
Twelve hands raise the drinking; each voice gives a name.
No feast for a triumph, no gold for a throne.
With Twelve Horns before us, no dead drink alone.
Pass grief like the mead cup from old hand to young;
A life leaves the earth, but may live on the tongue.

[Verse 3]
A shield-maiden stood with her arm in a sling
And asked for the brother who followed the king.
I saw him, I told her, beside the south gate,
Still bracing the hinge when the warning came late.
She poured out his measure and touched his torn mail:
"No raven takes memory. No fire can prevail."
She sat without trembling, her jaw locked tight.
The wounded man wept in the wavering light.

[Bridge]
Each drinker laid one token by the chair:
A spindle, fishhook, buckle, lock of hair.
I placed down the crown where all could see.
The table took its weight; the heat stayed with me.

[Instrumental Break]
[A slow distorted guitar enters beneath the acoustic pattern; the lead guitar states the three-note motif twelve times with changing harmony.]

[Choir]
For the one at the anvil.
For the one at the loom.
For the hands in the barley.
For the child in the room.

For the voice at the shoreline.
For the oar and the stone.
Drink once for the living.
The dead drink not alone.

[Final Chorus]
Twelve horns on the table, dawn pale through the frame,
Twelve hearts kept the drinking; grief altered each name.
No feast for a triumph, no claim to a throne.
With Twelve Horns before us, no dead went unknown.
We carried their tokens when morning winds sung;
Their homes died in fire, but their names crossed the tongue.

[Outro]
We covered the embers and opened the door.
Black snow lay knee-deep across the floor.
