When a volcano\'s winter cold
And the remittance men of old
No longer provide their sway
Their ghost town will decay
But that is just as well
For ghosts will never tell
What it is that they must hide
About Templar secret pride
Their trove you cannot know
Hidden somewhere down below
And what answers you may seek
Will leave your future bleak
For seekers are ever blocked
From great secrets inter-lached