4The lands of ancient elven lords
Are blessed with marble skies.
The essence living in their airs
No man could compromise.
Their trees are crafts of marbled wood,
Their clouds of wispy cream.
The magics that enchant that land
Come truly from a dream.
The dreams of men? Yes, them they are
From which their magics flow.
The elven lords are naught without
The lesser man and woe.
The lands of ancient kings of men
Are cursed by tainted wind;
The essence brooding in their airs,
Too vile to rescind.
Their soils burn with years of blood,
Their hearts with lasting pride.
The spirits that corrupt that land
Wreak havoc far and wide.
The spirits of the elven lords?
Yes, they are lords indeed.
The realm of man is naught without
The elves' malicious greed.