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The scent of rotten leaves arises
From the stones of old
Which give eternal birth
To fungi, algea, moss and mould

The air could suffocate a man
in numbers far and few
but plentiful the sounds of snakes
which cut through morning dew

Within the realm of Yuan-Ti
The snake-god rules supreme
Within the realm of twilight
Neither life nor death or dream

And with the god’s cold-blooded might
He summons snakes of sorts malign
Their venom shall co-agulate
The Ourobouros sign

Spewed forth to woods of pagan men
heralded by sunset
born at the sound of thunder:
The Ophidian Amulet...

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.