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Ringing of iron upon stone

Tolling in the caverns dark

Endlessly they scrape the walls

In lightless servitude they heave

The work, to exhume

What once was and never shall be known

Strike, with wearisome pick


Blink, through sheen of sweat and grime

All but faded
, memories of the world above

Candle-wisp, flickering

Extinguished, on they must toil

Soil-gaunt, begrimed and caked with lime and shale dust


In lungs of Substrate Tyrannia, beneath and beyond

Thankless, the undertaking, they do not miss the Sun’s light

Ignoble, forsaken legacy

Ancient breath transmutes the rock

Boot-falls echo in the sprawling Underverse


Of secrets and treasures to discern no more

Torch fails, reverberates the chasm-wailing of
 the lost

Languishing within the barren, fissured pit

In search of Unlight, pure


To break and bind the world anew

We, Acolytes of the Fathom-spawned,

Do entreat ye thus

To shape the future,
 a rampart to storm against life above

Hearken the Absolute,
 Where stone begets stone

We are the Sons of the Muted Abyss

Chasm-bound and chasm-nurtured

Our toil, our tolling in the deepest pits

We summon thee to War