No, no, no, old tanned Thøkk won't cry,
for the lovely Lord of Youth,
for to her it won't do any good.
He has what tanned Thøkk has no more,
and soon old Thøkk will close the final door.
Would the mighty lord ever restore
troubled Thøkk to what she was before?
Thøkk the thoothless thinks not
for it isn't his to give the Norns
lamented lore.
No, no, no, old Thøkk won’t cry
for the Lord of Light,
for her empty eyes only behold the vast starless night.
The shadows of lustless life are all she sees in her final years.
Lightless she faces her final fears.
No,no, no Thøkk won't weep
for one God less in the silken sky.
With only emptyness ahead,
why tears for the whiteskin should she shed?
Her face is dark with years,
yawning and cloven by ancient salty tears.
Not for him will her rivers now swell
nor fill the canyons on her front with the despair of Hell.
No,no,no Thøkk won't weep untrue rotten rains,
for never forgotten will He be, the Golden Lord.
But who will weep for Thøkk, when her night has come
remember her will none,
unless now I refusee this bid to weep.
Only then immortality will gain,
my ever cursed unholly name.
And thus through everlasting hate,
eterrnal life will be my fate
