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[Doomsayer]

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Harken now unto the voice of unified doom.

We speak from the festering ether, the bloodied gray gloom.

Heed this prophecy, Britannia. For bereft you may be as it comes to pass.

Silence and creeping rot suckling upon the teet of the highest holy mass.

The dark savior shrieks into existence tempered in innocent wailing.

His spirit abides aside, waiting for the whited knight’s grand failing.

There is none before him to prevent the days of his age.

A mountain cradle- his birth to the world in the furies of rage.

An utterance spoken.. I see.. I see.. I see.

Soft prayers to the Nothingness brought about by he.

He comes as a wind of death and decay- horror from the north and east.

Drunken on blood of sacrifice, glutted on the flesh of the fell feast.

He will bring desolation down upon the heads of near all.

Bringing pain, desolation, destruction. Waiting for the time. Waiting for the fall.

Sweet harbinger of death, scion of a very near and new time of pain!

Speak unto us through the mists of time, uncoverers the coming of your reign.

Where black is cold and cold is white, his throne of bone shall rally the powers of the grave and of the night.