Far above, looking down,
Narrowed eyes, disapproving frown,
The Gods of Light look at that below,
And the seeds of Chaos they begin to sew.

They say they fight,
For good and right,
But edicts by the score,
Bring about nothing but war.

There is no peace,
There is no solace.
There in the east,
In that "Holy" place.

They make war,
On Light and Art,
Spreading nothing but Fear,
And Oppression, and Hurt.

The Moon they ridicule,
The Bard they scorn,
In their wake, nothing but cesspools
Barren and war-torn.

Their wrongs they will right,
Their words they will cross,
Or we will fight,
For Targossas' loss.

For the City of Light,
Has turned from their path,
And embraced the teachings of hatred,
Spreading nothing but wrath.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Lupar, in the year 644 AF.