Long slumbering, now lumbering.
Stalk the lowlands, stalk the crags.
Eyes of white, pierce the night.
Scratch and hiss, shatter and gore.
Tails of steel, weaken the seal.
Purge the world, sterilize the filth.
Make tidy the former chaos, for the lords are returning.

The eyes are opening, the wings are flexing, the minds are racing now.
Testing the bonds, ancient muscles strain against time worn shackles.
The serpents, with their razor teeth and endless coils, are thrashing.
The waters churn and the murky depths rise, drowning the sunlit waters.
The nobles await their masters now.

Statuary, nothing more, reminders of the Waking War.
Marble, granite, twisted rocks with cold-stone hearts;
Hint of malice, imply the spite, always careful, always right.
Plant the feet, stare them down, one step closer to a perfect world.
The garden will be ready, there, just like that, keep it steady.

The lands are pure, the skies are empty, the seas are dark;
The stage is set, the players move, the world holds its breath.