Burn, oh burn, you wretched fiends,
Sky-plague, feathered blight on air,
No song nor grace, just shrieks obscenea"A curse upon the world laid bare.

Oh hateful geese! Oh honking scourge!
No pond nor field shall grant you stay,
No mercya hand shall quell the urge
To light you up and burn away.

Oh Fire, pure and bright beloved,
Feast on feathers and sear the souls,
Let crackling fat rise high above,
Let grease, like rivers, flood the coals!

No bones, no beaks, no cursed cry,
No shadows left to haunt the sky!
Only Fire, fierce and grand;
And ashes drifting from my hand.

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Valnuary, in the year 967 AF.