Let no man breach the gate,
To this most blasphemous of halls,
Lest bitterness and chaos,
Be the harvest they wouldst reap,
He must n'er become a slave,
To this Child's beck and call,
For she must never waken,
From her Crimson Sleep.

The monastery stood,
Towering above the ruined city,
It shadowed all the new emerging,
Settlements and homes,
To look down on the ruins,
Was to sympathize and pity,
All the suffering and heartache,
All the graves and broken bones.

For buried there a testament,
To the evil of a queen,
A misery that spread a cross,
A weak and stricken land,
The crimson birth,
That swamped the earth
In dark and deadly dreams,
And all mankind did bow,
Beneath the power of her hand.

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