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Loss is a necessity on these tortured peaks
Where marble columns spiral to the sky
And the horizon is a bleak canvas
Dusted with ancient blood and silent iron.

Can this vision, once so unreal, be a hidden truth?
A prelude to an order yet to be revealed?

A prophecy of what is to come?

An unwavering force holds captive this oppressive terrain
Shrouding it's paramount secret in dense fog.

Birthed in silence, this is your world
Birthed in silence, this is your inheritance

Take heed!
For this is your prophecy born from dismal terrain.

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