Those ancient beings are almost soaring high,
So far up upon their mountains, lost within the expanses of our night sky,
Their might and hulking forms ever wet amidst the rain, and yet eternally dry,
From these torrential storms without which we could not live or die.
Oh, how we seek to teach others this,
And yet our efforts are thwarted, cirumvented into that darkness, the abyss,
Fearful whisperings, careless tidings which are all his,
This ancient evil, the one called the beast, and one who gives off a woeful kiss.
So now I implore of you, help me to save,
Those facing down his terrible and guttural wave,
The ones being kept out beyond their rightful grave,
Those terrible silences sought while praying for their sake, always within the knave.
So help, oh how we beseech thee to do so against his deplorable might,
To help right what is wrong, and to change those wrongs to a right…