Of ancient kings and ancient trust
That oft do break the midnight's ranks,
Unknown blackness, shrouding crust.
Still they call upon the shores
Of oceans wide and rivers bored
Upon the Earth and on the planks
Of all the midnight's hidden hordes.
Ancient waters rise with glee -
Tainted, viscous savagery -
To drown the cries of mankind's thanks
And sink the sorrows of the sea.
Never will the darkness fall
Into its grave, beneath its pall,
For soon the Well will clean its tanks,
And men will wither in their hall.
Then the murky depths will rise
Up to Heaven's corrupt skies,
Taking all the crucial flanks:
Sin for sin, eyes for eyes.
Mind the waters damned by salt,
Twisted by the tears of fault,
For They are putrid, vague, and rank,
Lending strength to evil's cult.
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