For those who have fallen, we send out our callin. Come back to us
dears, be a balm to the fears. My darling childer, spawn of blood.
You're not here, I am as mud. We dance amidst the night and gloom, until
the end, yet you've found doom while here I am left in my tomb.

If I could take it back I would, to bring you back to see the good, in
dwelling with me forever midst dirt boxes of wood. Though you've gone to
ground, and find yourself inanimate, I still seek the contaminant to
make you pure once found. I feel as if I wielded the blade that cut the
chord on life's charade and so my dirge to you is thus. All things end,
to rest as dust.

I never meant to make it spoiled, for in your names I've always toiled.
I'll miss you my angelic flock, for though you're each different, you're
of prime stock. I offer this to you on the altar of sadness, so that
others who see might learn from the madness. Keep your family close to
the heart. One never knows when they might depart.


Penned by my hand on the 13th of Khepary, in the year 247 MA.