[CHORUS:
We are many, we're one blade
Forged from every time and place
We are many, we won't fade
All shall know Renewal's name.]

Memory is an ancient blade
mote of triumphs, mote of pain.
Every wielder's will remains:
echoing, shouting out in sharp refrain.

Life is a whetstone, large and grey
sharpening you, teaching how to slay.
We are as one when we all pray
in the pale white trees of our Cathedral's grace-

[CHORUS]

Joy is a forest, lush and green
Verdant, resplendent, how it teems
Birth, life, and death all beneath its leaves
Growing tall, rooted deep under shadowed eaves.

Triumph is red, like a poppy's dream
Pounding the pulse of your heart's swift beat
Bringing about desperate souls' defeat
Ringing with laughter while preybeasts flee.

[CHORUS]

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 4th of Haernos, in the year 5 AC.