It does not matter peasant or king.
Consume us all- the exclusive art be.
Blinding, calling, drawing near.
Neither the intervening valiantry delight
nor the incessant warsong cry
can bear this burden of yearning man.
It does not matter sun or moon.
Fall the souls like pouring rain
on arrival murmuring heaven’s name.
Power denies its claim to breathe.
Hunger denies its claim to feed.
Stench accustoms the sleepless schemer
through the orchards of forbidden fruit.
Dorn these knights shrouds of black
and tainted silver at their side.
Then mount their cursed- bastard beasts
and gallop away like the horsemen four.
Scour the lands, the Shadow commands,
and slay the betrayer; the remnant Heart.
Creator of honor, freedom and peace.