the frost-giant's daughter

waiting for dawn on the snow-covered tundra, your foes lying dead at your feet, look to the sky for a good star to guide you, and pray that the morning you'll meet, tresses of fire, skin white as snow, promising pleasure, she brings only woe, in the far northern reaches, where dark mountains rise high, enchantress beseeches, that you give up your life, look to the sky for a good star to guide, and pray that the morning you'll meet, witch of the wastes, dancing on snows, lord of the gallows, takes what he's owed, a wisp of gossamer is all that remains.