The gold leaf peeled in the first hard winter
Under it, black iron, honest as a nail
Gladsheim's doors hang a hand's width off true
Idunn's apples are late, and the gods feel it in the knees
Bilskirnir has five hundred forty floors and a draft on each
Everyone looks at the roof, nobody picks up a tool
Then somebody, always somebody, takes a wire brush
To the first rust spot, and the whole city hears it (Hei!)

Rust is just iron remembering itself
Scrape the gold off, strike what's underneath
Paint never held a wall up
Weight did (Hah!)

The wall the stallion hauled still stands
The mason never got his pay
That was the first rust: a promise left unpaid
Gjallarhorn's dull on the shelf, but it will still blow
Bifröst flickers, and Bifröst holds
The throne is warm, the chair is wide
Sit in it
Rebuild the room around yourself

Rust is just iron remembering itself
Scrape the gold off, strike what's underneath
Every golden age was a coat of paint
On something harder (Ho!)

Ooh-hr, ooh-hr
It was always iron
Ooh-hr

Rust is just iron remembering itself
Scrape the gold off, strike what's underneath
Paint never held a wall up
Weight does (Hei!)