On the peaks of Hemlod, where the leaves once verdure, turns golden as they die
and the mists flow over, ancient Halls of grandeur,
and walls upon which only, godly shadows lie!
Around the turrets of Hemlod, the guardian dragon flies
where the woes of men like knell sounds
and fuel her beastly fires!
In the Sovereign's court room, regal faces upon royal hands, rest and sigh
so demure, upon thrones in capes and crowns
the love and loath of man resound
war and hunger, echo loudest amongst....
....the grieving Hemlod, where the Immortals cry!