Hush now, wet your tongue in black ale,
Let the fire crack and spit—
For this is the tale of a hunted man
Who never once would quit.
A witcher, carved in winter’s bone,
Eyes pale as dying moons—
He walked where hope had long since drowned
In blood, in mud, in ruins.
Chorus:
Ride, White Wolf, through the dead of night,
Through choking fog and fear.
The Wild Hunt drags the world to frost—
And still you do not veer.
He searched for a girl marked by storms,
A child the fates devour—
Her footsteps burned in frozen earth,
A flame that feared its power.
Through Velen’s corpse-fed, stinking fields,
Where mothers claw the ground,
He sank his boots in rotted truth
And never once looked down.
He bargained with the woods’ old gods,
With things that smelled of graves—
He saw the Baron’s haunted eyes,
A man no soul could save.
He walked through screams in Novigrad,
Through streets of char and chains,
Where witchfyre curled like hungry tongues
Around the heretics’ remains.
Chorus:
Ride, White Wolf, through the dead of night,
Through choking fog and fear.
The Wild Hunt drags the world to frost—
And still you do not veer.
To Skellige’s cliffs where wind cuts skin,
And oceans swallow light,
He tasted cold that kills a man
Before he starts to fight.
There thunder crowned the chosen dead,
And kings fell to the sea—
And through the storm, the Hunt rode down
To claim the Elder’s key.
The sky split open—black and raw,
Worlds trembling at the seam.
The Wolf stood firm beside the girl
Whose veins could end the dream.
A thousand dead kings held their breath,
The void began to howl—
But even when the darkness rose,
The Wolf refused to bow.
Final Chorus:
Ride, White Wolf, through the ash and bone,
Through nightmares come alive.
The Wild Hunt came to break the world—
But you made sure it survived.
Raise no cheers, sing no soft vow:
Just whisper how he wouldn’t bow
The_Oak_and_Anvil
