The Prophecy of Bane
If Under fell, if Over leaped
If life was death, if death life reaped
Something rises from the gloom,
To make the Underland a tomb.
Hear it scratching down below,
Rat of long-forgotten snow,
Evil cloaked in coat of white
Will the warrior drain your light?
What could turn the warrior weak?
What do burning gnawers seek?
Just a barely speaking pup
Who holds the land of under up.
Die the baby, die his heart,
Die his most essential part.
Die the peace that rules the hour.
Gnawers have their key to power.
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