Three casted children

From amongst the lost ones

Two inheritors of the blacksmith’s curse

A turned god from the dilapidated realm

Calling themselves the first of men

And a pure soul link

To the roaming child

Dona Maria

Witness, oh, those who can see

This simple words

That can bring tragedy

Are nothing but toys in the hands of gods

As they need not utter

For their wishes to be done

Oh lost souls

Driven and broken

Here to take cover in the land of the fallen

Believe me this, you can surpass yourself

Like the exiled bloodhound of myth

So prepare thyself, day and night

For within the defeated

A victor waits to emerge

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