Here at the end of everything, there births a stretching void.
The frail echos of that which was, in history alloyed.
And as the final heat escapes, as path and word grow old,
The frigid sacred flame of fear is cast upon the fold.
The congregation quarrels, on thousand wisdoms choke.
The priestess sheds a smiling tear to sanctify the joke.
Each and all cower and sing, we cringe as we are thrown,
To worlds so unpredictable, hostile and unknown.
Bless this sharp uncertainty, wielding her blade of flame.
Remember we\'re all here to die,
Free from fetid name.