A rain of embers above the forest fell,

So dark and deep, where the dark things ever dwell.

Extinguished and dead, each flake a husk so stale,

That rests upon the peaks beneath the moonlight pale.

A ring of mountains made of ash and stone,

Around the peak are laid, that stands in night alone.

An ancient curse still rests upon those peaks,

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Where night is dark and where the darkness speaks.

The silent whispers, without a heart or soul,

In ancient voice of shadows, they speak so grim and foul.

They speak of a god that in the mountain was sealed,

A history of old, through their words revealed.

Beneath the darkest peak, shapeless he dwells,

In cold and darkness from the endless pits of hells.

In the heartless rock, in cold, dark stone,

Were carved the caverns around his throne.

And the gold of walls that filled the gilded halls,

Was turned into steel as dark as night,

Forever cursed, what once shone bright.