Here behold unshapen dooms,

And shadows rising from their tombs;

Oblivion, with eyes like stars,

silver beams streaming like scars,

etched into the flesh of night,

burning hopes now gleaming bright.

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Now stretched across nightmares surreal

of ancient lights empyreal.

Empires of a vagabond waste,

from elder, unseen worlds displaced

undyed with neither truth nor lies,

pleniluned gaze in eldritch eyes.

Forlorn, now, that cursed light

that blinds and burns our mundane sight,

and beyond those old star-born gleams,

Gods slumber in a vault of dreams.