Laufey's Son,
Trickster of the far north,
Delicate spawn of giants,
Wheedler and coaxer with the secret agenda,
Liar who speaks the truth others will not hear,
We call you, two-faced one whose soul burns bright,
And invite you to be critical of our souls.
You love to make us break our vows,
When those vows are made heedlessly.
You love to catch us in our own hypocrisies
And puncture our bubbles of pride.
Nothing is safe from you, no emotion
Is sacrosanct from your prodding.
What do we really think, you ask?
What are we not saying? You know,
And your shifty eyes catch ours,
Your crafty smile slips across your face,
And we blush in shame, knowing
That you have read our foolish fumblings
With the truth. For the truth is a flame that burns,
You tell us. Do not pretend to eat fire
If you are not willing to suffer the consequences,
Which is to be cast out by others.
Only when we are clear-eyed and humble
Will your gaze toward us be free of slyness.
Loki, Spirit of Truth and Lies,
Burn us with the measure of our own words.