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.