﻿[Intro]
(Mandola, anvil-like drum accents and low guitar establish a working village rhythm.)

[Verse 1]
A woman drew water while frost filmed the pail,
A boy patched the roof with a rope and a nail.
The smith shaped a hinge for a door in the rain,
His brother shaped spearheads for silver and grain.
A dog slept beneath where the barley was dried,
A widow kept half of her firewood aside.
No saga had named them, no rune praised their birth,
Yet each left a thumbprint in flour and earth.

[Pre-Chorus]
The millstone circled; the black hammer fell,
A cradle gave answer, then answered the bell.
The skald heard the root underneath every floor—
Not asking for heroes, but holding them more.

[Chorus]
Midgard, made of breath, made of bread and borrowed bone,
A roof against the weather, a hand that is not alone.
Midgard, made of breath, every life a warming coal,
Brief enough to matter, small enough to hold.
“Vee LEH-ver MEH-dan YOR-den minns,” the field and forge confess—
We live while earth remembers more than monuments possess.

[Verse 2]
At noon came the riders with seals from the king,
They measured the young men like cattle in spring.
The smith hid his anger behind cooling steel,
The widow stood straight though her knuckles went pale.
The boy from the rooftop was handed a spear,
Too long for his shoulder, too bright for his fear.
His mother tied red wool around the wood grain,
Then smiled till the riders had crossed through the rain.

[Pre-Chorus]
The millstone slowed and the hammer went still,
Smoke pressed like wool on the side of the hill.
The skald saw the king’s mark, cut deep in the pine—
A crown asking blood from a door without time.

[Chorus]
Midgard, made of breath, made of bread and borrowed bone,
A roof against the weather, a hand that is not alone.
Midgard, made of breath, every life a warming coal,
Brief enough to matter, small enough to hold.
“Vee LEH-ver MEH-dan YOR-den minns,” the field and forge confess—
We live while earth remembers more than monuments possess.

[Instrumental Break]
(Mandola plays the village melody while low guitars gradually replace the mill rhythm with a marching pattern.)

[Bridge]
The skald took the red wool and wownd it round his wrist,
A color like rowan fruit burning through the mist.
Only the old dog lifted its head beside the grain,
And whimpered at the footsteps already shaped by rain.

[Breakdown]
Who carries the barley when young shoulders leave?
Who tempers the iron? Who harvests and grieves?
A king counts his banners, a mother counts beds—
The crown calls them soldiers; the root calls them dead.

[Final Chorus]
Midgard, made of breath, made of bread and borrowed bone,
A roof against the weather, a hand that is not alone.
Midgard, made of breath, your weakness is your worth,
For gods inherit heaven, but mortals tend the earth.
“Vee LEH-ver MEH-dan YOR-den minns,” now every doorway cries—
We live while earth remembers the work between our lives.

[Outro]
The mill resumed its turning.
The pail filled at the spring.
Red wool moved in the north wihnd—
A small, unroyal thing.
