
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