Tempestuous plains tell the tale,
Windswept wastes do bewail,
Haunting Spirit of the land,
Seeks the living, seeks the damned.
Horizoned edge sheared with grass, 5
Dark Storm Rising in the pass,
Ageless Spirit seeks the path,
To torment souls to the last.
Brooding Spirit upon the plain,
Thunderhead gathers for the rain. 10
Light grows dim then bolts with pain,
On dry Earth her sin is stained.
Burning Prairie razed a red swollen eye,
Flames leap heavenward
Ahhh, with bowstring does she fly! 15
(Frightened creatures do stampede,
Into night, they do recede . . .).
Ungodded hand on seasoned blade,
Reaps the harvest of the Age.
Burning spirit of ancient woe, 20
How many have you killed—
How many did you know.
Released from her eternal din,
Spirit of the Age rises again.
Seeking to plunder and consume, 25
Those who were proud, those who presumed.
Spirits rage while storm draws nigh,
Upon burning plain and emblazoned sky.
’Tis said giants grapple in the Earth so deep,
To contend for souls that they might keep. 30
The Storm spirit now searches the high and the low,
To seek her manchild victim in the fields below.
Leaves bad wasteland to claim but a fallen man,
Denying it Heaven, crowning it, ‘Son of the Damned.’
Treacherous Spirit of the far lost night, 35
Tramples souls down denying them light.
Storm seethes with furious hiss,
Leads men on to bottomless pit.
This most ancient of foes has come from her den,
To seek the living, to make ready those dead. 40
A living sacrifice is her soul desire,
To snatch the soul for black funeral pyre.
A double-damned devil, that is she,
This one who lies, who claims to make free.
A lying spirit, that is her domain, 45
A storm-wracked Fury of self-proclaim.
Onward she seeks, this bleak Northern wind,
Searching for naught but for a soul akin.
Amidst the howling and the rage,
To murder again, that is her trade. 50
As she went forth, she was heard to say:
“Gather unto me my children on this lovely day,
For I have come to set your hearts free,
From heh, all yore wants and your miseries.
Come with me all you who hear, 55
Draw to me both far and near,
Cleave to me as I certainly shall cleave to you,
For I must show you what I speak is perfectly true.”
As this spirit of graves left the plain,
She left a wake of dead in shrouded train. 60
Burning Prairie, she smiled, as friend,
For her bloodless travesty was again at hand.
Now down from the plain Storm did come,
Unto those cities wherein was no sun.
There with whirlwind she did rip and scour, 65
For those souls of whom she could tear and devour.
She comes to seek the living and the dead,
Those who were frightened, those with no dread.
Thus upon those she did acclaim,
“I am the Mistress of the living and the slain.” 70
O’ haunting Spirit of this land,
Taker of life, maker of the damned.
--On Villain Dark Storm Rising, Valley of the Damned
