For decades have I slept,
buried in Tainted Earth.
Corrupted visions,
dreams of death,
licked my skin of dirt.

They had spoken,
they had whispered,
I’ve heard them in my head -
the voice of pain,
the voice of reason,
the burden of my debt.

And even though I was alone,
beneath the blood,
beneath the stone,
I could still hear the Engine’s moan.

Just like a caged beast,
it was tortured,
weak,
diseased -
dying on its leash.

…..or so it seemed……

Deep in me I rather knew -
the Libellus must and shall be true!
And even if we falter,
we could pull.

There were, truly, better times,
Magnagora can,
and it will rise,
foreboding our foes demise…..

But until the time arrives,
we must listen, wait, despise,
taking every hit – advice.

…..

So I slept for decades,
away from decadence,
contemplating wisely
in a somber reverence
until I felt the tainted grip -
it was time to act,
and not to sleep.