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. |