The plangent waves sing of sorrow,

Torrid pain, and gelid snow,

The steps of those past long ago,

Effaced by the passage of Time.

For chthonic divines, they yet abide,

And if thou know where the scions hide,

I pray that thou will be my guide,

‘Fore they abscond and cast their hate.

Memories old are never spake,

Thou forgot the daemons’ wake,

But not the scions’ mordant quake,

For thou believed them innocuous.

The miscreant’s cant deceived thy mind,

They stole thine eyes and burned them blind,

Thou portended my coming from behind,

Thou truculent fool, thou sundered the earth.

Thou let the nefarious scions go,

Weaver and Sand, freedom bestow,

Now thou repent thy mortal blow,

For their inchoate power may only grow.