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Behold, a boy entrusted with words of divinity

To deliver unto us the Gatekeeper’s keys.

O, pray...pray for the squire

An errant corpse still walking the land...

What tidings he brings, woeful and dire

His missive speaks of the End...

Chosen to tread forgotten paths in solitude

Condemned to this quest, dispatched to intrude.

Youthful years withered by centuries' demand

Banshees and manes reach out to grasp his hands.

Silence surrounds the knightly silhouette

His armor, a rusted fortress of regrets

None worthier to bear this sacred curse

In the barren land he has traversed.

Salvation lingers upon his lips

Yet no mortal dares to draw near

Upon his quire he lays his grip

And prays at last for the words to be read for all the damned to hear.

For all the damned to hear...