| The Books of Harrow, our salvation and doom, |
| A Prophets legacy for guarding our time. |
| Lo! The astral abyss before us loom, |
| The saviour's own sally to a war-gong's chime. |
| What hope exists in this shattered land, |
| In lives returning from dwellings below? |
| The thirteenth will rise as blood dyes the sand, |
| All life shall perish, none but Death will grow. |
| The battles will create our destiny, |
| The great Old Ones beside us will descend. |
| The Prescient One will regain clarity, |
| Seeing her last revelation of the end. |
| Still it might not pass in dread and sorrow, |
| Fate rests on the Heroes of Tomorrow. |