A phantom like a mem`ry ris`n
from depths of the blackest of hues;
it mutters words I shan't depict
for its words were all but chilling,
and not a man had been willing.
A phantom like a tempest tide
laying foot upon the lakeshore,
coal black fluids dripping, flowing;
it wrought a force none might abide
that man shan't live, but come nigh, die.
A phantom like a silver moon;
direwolves on a prowl nearby,
their blazing eyes upon its wraithe;
they eye it as a pleasant boon,
a precious stone, a shim`ring rune.
A phantom like the winter storms;
rampaging, striding to and fro
with hail and snow like wisps of fire,
like scythes that ravage wheat and corn;
o, how a phantom's wrath is borne!
A phantom like a mem`ry lost;
lost in the waves of space and time,
lost like a boy outgrown of cries...
but all along this phantom's cause
has doomed us all for foolish hosts.
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