Across the rugged harbors
of the Straight of Ruins,
Across the conifer forests
of the Green Summerland
Across the icy northerland
of the Snow-strewn tundra
Across the dawn-cradled rivers
of the nation itself
Across the whispering south plains
of the Southerland
Across the misty islands
of the Sea of Nymphs
And across the many ships
of the ocean Fr'eyze
Comes our one and only
Prophet of the end.
