The powers that be draw those loyal around them

in a tempest they swirl, fear is their is as darkness swirling 

and swirling in a cloak of despair, self assurance fleeting.

Chaos imbues its dread upon the world,

a song of misery and violence.

it must be but silenced. 

The winds of change gust though the cities.

Frost cloaks the  night of the north,

patient as ever, inevitable.

Those caught greeted with stiff rigor mortise. 

Those of the host banded together in misguided, ever so righteous, chaos.

Ready to put forth their lives in desperation to contrive order.

Seasons know not your reasons, seasons are devoid of death.

They gather in the cesspools, looking on the moonlit lake.

The withered faces, eaten and decayed. Unhinge the minds of those with faith.

Woe the Martyr, Child.

Speaks in the night. Drowned in water of calming death.

This has been a prelude to what follows.