Under the Umbra,

The Proving Grounds

Are freckled with bloodlets

That shine like so many tears.

Ain’t it something

To behold?

The Pride and Joy

Of the endless Void

Is born.

We have fashioned tools

Like The Brazen Bull,

Designed to extract the unfaithful.

Step up to the altar,

My Father will judge

If a pound of flesh

Or a pint of blood

Is enough to

Furnish your freedom.

Or if you’ll be

Offered up for the feeding.

The Spectre coalesces

Before us,

Brutish and repulsive…

Punishment is now upon the weak,

Who fell into that

Great sleep

Too soon.

Under the Umbra,

A still darker shadow

Everlasting, is cast.

Why don’t you cry

To the

Sallow Moon?

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