The baron told me once,
"It is not the war that is won,
But the peace that is lost,"

So here I remain,
As tatters of fabric and flurries of ash
To darken the brightest of unsafe skies

We step further from empathy
With each step toward destiny
The cut runs deeper than we know

We no longer look through this prism
As Hell reigns on all sides of the schism
And blood trickles across these faceless dreams

Release the captives,
For we are mere moments away from capture
And the gods no longer listen to these aimless prayers