“In this dervish land where times are dark, a wandering soul whose life is stark, a man, a woman, something untold, constantly changing so no one knows.

Again and again they will rise, until it is the right time to die, this is their blessing, this is their curse, for in the end they will collect from all who disperse.

The land is weak and time stretched thin, the light unceasing beginning to dim, war gongs sound, the world in decay, the bell begins to toll devouring every soul.

The lamps they light, the fiends they fight, a thousand souls if that’s the toll.

The burdened alone sees all that unfolds.”