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