She stands dressed in black, spear in hand and sword on hip

Her armor silent as Her gaze pours from Heilheim’s Gate

Death’s sentinel stands tall


The weary souls, the old, those who died in life’s embrace

The scientist and swordsmith, the veteran, the peaceful and the passionate

All walk the long and winding road to Gjallarbru


The addict and the shiverer, the starved and sold and stricken

Walk together in Death’s invitation

She watches their steps upon the well-trod road


The Dead pass by with Her assent

Welcomed home into the Hall

No fear, but welcome for every single soul


She shuts the Gate behind Them

Her sacred duty never done

For Hel and the Mighty Dead

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