In false condemnation, the earth will rebel with anger,
yet the gods of this world unite, separately, together. 
In a gnashing fury, they will fail in their rescue,
and all will be seen naked in the dying feud.

The holy few will proclaim such a victory,
as the assembled masses are enslaved in great fear.
The honor of the peoples between the great mains
will be slaughtered by father and son, in an unholy alliance.

Crossing the sky in fratricidal mayhem,
the ghosted stars fly lowly on the mist,
fires will spew from the holiest of places,
as the heathens and the banished feed in the famine.

Disorder resumes in the crust of the mountain,
waters will boil in bloody despair, spilling forth.
Through the lakes on the land, anarchy will reign,
consuming those who resist those who revolt.

The gathering browsers will pick a coverage,
incarnating the night with an abundance of noise.
Finding the weepers weaker than their heart fire,
the bastard son will rise from the great desert.