Bind me to the sharpened tree,

the sacred sword you made of me,

tie me with my son’s insides,

poison me and more, besides,

bind me to the blade, a shade

of loathing left to die,

and empty me of laughter, fade,

where Ragnarok’s shadows lie,

for I am the poem’s final line,

the great song, absent sound,

I am the dead gods’ death, divine,

I am Loki, bound!



The crazy never, ever,

Die – They live on,

In our laughter,

In our poems and our pity,

In our promises and rainbows,

In our zebra Faerie city,

They become legend, altered

Memory that fits awkwardly,

Living happily ever after,

In our ideals and hoping,

In our faith and cheese,

In our fervid coping,

The crazy never, ever,

Die – they live on,

In our laughter.