Arkha
This simple whaling village
Its people were cursed
With endless thirst
When the waning moon hung low
They all turned
Their skins greenish and translucent
Their bodies covered with scales
Their toes and hands webbed
Their necks developed gills
Their backs fins
Their teeth sharp as needles
Their brains filled with eyes
At last
Sorcerers arrived in Arkha
To search the villagers for eyes and brains
Scratching their skulls for eyes
For the accursed arcane
Brewing the ingredients in cauldron
Like filthy witches
Oh, the fools
They recited the words of the spell
All lusting in their hearts
For the power of the Great Ones
They consumed their potions
Waiting for their ascension
Yet their vessels crumbled
Under the power of the Great Ones

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