Through lightning, rain, and thunder,
howls a wind blowing cold.
Footsteps by the window echo,
smoke-filled hallowed air.
Come all ye together hither.
Listen and behold.
For the mountains have long listened,
to what the trees are have now foretold.
On the wind a battle rises.
Steel and blood and bone.
Sky darkened, fields ashen,
life faded and burned ‘fore old.
As the night it creeps upon us,
a hallowed horn is blown.
Up the ramparts stalk the massive-kin,
allied against our solemn throne.
And if perchance a failing wind,
should utter unto all,
Then a distant, tolling bell,
shall sing then of the fall.
And if perchance a sailing win,
should blow us from the halls.
We’ll sing then of the better times
while here we stand ever tall
Steel and blood and bone at dawn,
‘neath blackened despairing suns.
How the wizened will be vanquished,
know only the blessed ones.