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No ancient script
Was ever writ
No jewel-decked throne
On which to sit
Soaring high,
The Watcher waits
To slake his thirst
To clean his plate
His jaws agape
His claws unfurled
The Winged-Watcher
Swallows the world
The oceans rise and fall
With his heaving chest
And in the wind
We feel his breath
No cries are heard
No tears are wept
For wise ones know
The bond once kept
The price he asked;
The cost of death:
A single drop,
Still glistening wet,
Of crystal'd pain
To pay a debt
As time went on
The debt accrued
And we foolish Men
The price refused
Now all is lost
And we, Erthwile
Peer at the stars
Through his crooked smile
Your soul is crumbling, rotting
Beneath the chains of hate
Can you hear those mournful, helpless cries?
The sound which has no name
Open your eyes
The blackened fog has blinded you
And with this darkness you have shrouded
Our deep and wooded home
He is our fatal end
Our recompense
He is the fear
We all can sense
The creeping serpent
The reeking breath
The fangs of Erebus
The certainty of Death
The fangs of Erebus
The certainty of Death