Aeron Damphair Uptight and square, The Priest of the Drowned God, Almost died and came back odd. He loves to drown followers, To make them water swallowers, And then bring them back, From total oxygen lack. That he thinks this is magic is quite bizarre, For we in the real world, too, have CPR. I hope he is killed soon, By Euron or some goon, But I bet it won’t work against this guy, Because, sadly, what is dead may never die, But rises again harder and refrigerator.
“The night is dark and full of terrors,” and the King’s blood has its powers - Red Priests sure don’t make any errors when they watch under the flames’ covers.
“What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger!” When one more wakes with quick breathing sigh we know the culture will live longer.
“The one true god has seven faces” preaches the septon with crystals in hand. Clad in satin and myrish laces, there is noone as wealthy in land.
The Old gods have no myrish laces, not fires, not drownings, not nice-sounding words. They answer if you speak to their carved faces - to them kneel all the Northern lords.
Drowned God, Lord of boats, Watch o’er the men who raid the coasts. Protect them with raging seas And give them fair winds and plunder and maidens thee. Grant them from thy great Seastone Chair The wisdom to listen to thine own servant the Damphair.
Drowned God, Lord of boats, Watch o’er the men who raid the coasts. Protect them with raging seas And give them fair winds and plunder and maidens thee. Grant them from thy great Seastone Chair The wisdom to listen to thine own servant the Damphair.
