Stroke of midnight, give or take a hand, W
And what a hand for a hand, A
And so began the march of man, S
Of Men. T

The six died, and the blind one was born, E
Born of mourning, unto scorn, L
Born to sand that battles tore, A
Are Tearing. N

A song through the internal darkness, D
A voice so dark, the sound does hark O
An essence of dark, so stark it explodes F
Like flowers of perfect blackness, O
Or the stained hull of the ark P
And like an Ark, it never ends: P
It just gets dark, O
And Darker. R
Forces that prey upon the weak T
Cannot seize me at their peak. U
When force’s name invoked does seek N
To prey upon the weak, it shall not seek me, I
Strength in my blindness, no more am I weak.T
My soul is not deceived by the lies the monarchs feed. Y

Wasteland of Opportunity.