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IMRAO DESERT THROUGH THE SCALDING HEAT

WHERE FEW FORMS OF LIFE CAN LIVE

SUDDENLY THEY SAW HIM, STANDING ON A CLIFF

THE GUIDE OF THE VOOTH, EMHOS

THERE IT CAME HIS ARMY, SWARMING FROM THE CLIFF

DEVOID OF EVERY MAGIC BUT SKILLED IN THE ART OF DESTRUCTION

READY TO SUICIDE, NO ONE SPARES ITS LIFE

TO PROTECT THE LAWS AND THE GUIDE OF THEIR LAND

TO DEATH THEY GAVE THEIR HANDS

A RIVER OF SUICIDIAL SOULS CAME FLOWING TOWARDS THEM

THE FOUR WERE WAITING BEHIND IMPROVISED SHELTERS

WITH THEIR MAGIC SKILLS THEY KEPT THEM AWAY

DEATH EVERYWHERE, DISTRESSING CRIES,

BROKEN LIVES GRUESOMELY GIVEN

FEARED AND WORSHIPPED GUIDANCE, LEADER EVER SINCE,

CONQUEROR BY VIOLENCE

WITH HIS VOLUNTARY SLAVES SUBMITTED BY HIS ANGER

LAST DESCENDANT OF THE CREED

THEN HE REALIZED THE BATTLE HAD BEEN LOST,

WATCHING FROM AFAR WITH DISDAIN AND SURPRISE

THE FALL OF ALL THE ILLUSIONS, USELESS WASTE OF BLOOD,

COWARDLY RETREATING HE LEFT THEM ALONE IN THE FIELD,

A SPIRIT DRENCHED IN SHAME

MOUNTAINS OF DEAD BODIES, AN END ALREADY WRITTEN