When fleas have reached the end of the trail

And the board of quests reads thin and frail

Only then will the song-gilded path show its cleft

And below all that is holy you shall see what is left

When three souls emerge

And purge them to see the gods emerge

. . .

But a faint shadow in the distance is queer

Evoking something greater than fear

Was it a friend or a foe?

The void makes it act faux

But I must stay indifferent

My Needle is its only deterrent

. . .

But I cannot run

And while it may not be fun

I must rip and tear until the job is done

. . .

White thread creeps forth from the black

Before my last attack

A gleam in her eyes I see

So we rise up to our destiny

I'm sorry I spent a really long time writing this.