Peace be unto you;

Primordial season to fall into a dream true

Hands a plenty

Scarred for the last… many awaken to come

It is of the void

They come from

Umbra thralls

Are all you seek

Ghouls and sheep

You are the weak

Tools are heavy in your mind

Gluttony causes you blind

Lust for knowledge, it is so weak

You fall into the pits of the sick ones

You are sick with poisoned, lusted, truth

That you cannot see past its own shelf of divine resemblance

Sadness decays a heavy heart

Heavy she is, but not so heavy to part

Parted cloth upon the wound

Injured clouds the humbled brood