Now come ye here, ta this quite place of declining wonder. Head bowed from the silent yoke, and eyes cast all low from visions most dire. The heart's bright face obscures not the coming gloom as the acts of men and unholy villain, play upon the land. The dance doth start, the tears begin, as both quick and dead it doth portend. Yet despair thee not for thou hast found upon this pale and hallowed beach, the grains of sand we do call hope. That in their growing number, we may yet dismiss the evil ocean and reclaim the sacred earth, So then, sweet stranger, come abide thee some, and tarry here, and embrace the muse. For within the strains and tidings found herein, hope's voice be born as the dreams and visions of goodly men, do once again unite. Now brave soul, let the joining in the massive chorus of soul's, mark the start, as the darkness' death knell doth begin.
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