Warden, Warden, Warden, Warden-
Warden!

Worn iron, torn iron
used iron, no speck of rust-
forged iron: scored iron
splattered with blood, turning to dust.

Tranquil, tranquil, the sound of the earth
Birdsong and wind, worms in the dirt
Turning the, turning the, earth in their course
This is the end to which we ply our force

Warden, Warden, Warden, Warden-
Warden!

Old ruins, cold ruins
ruins that somebody lived in before
fools' ruins, culled ruins
silenced by hope, and hallowed by war

Tranquil, tranquil, the sound of the earth
Predators, preybeasts both hunt without word
Turning the, turning the, wheel in their course
This is the end to which we ply our force.

Warden, Warden, Warden, Warden-
Warden!

Honed iron, rose iron
iron with roots drinking deep from the dirt
flow, iron; grow, iron
rise from the broken ones, newborn, inured

Tranquil, tranquil, the sound of the earth
The threat is long gone, and She's healed from Her hurt
Turning the, turning the, Cycle of life
Renewal's rose grows from the blood of strife

Warden, Warden, Warden, Warden-
WARDEN!

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 17th of Chakros, in the year 6 AC.