There hangs a stark sky
Over the barren, wasted land.
A clan, full of promise and pride
Resides amongst a leader's command.

Brazen in Ice and Fire
In the freeze of Neptune.
Expansion, its only desire
And prophecies will illume.

A family of Flesh and Blood
The latter of in dire reception.
Through the coarse veins of crud
Lies a crude, vile sort of infection.

Stagnant of irrigation
Devoid of wildebeest hunt.
Resorted to methods of Thracians
And engulfed those without common front.