Regretful Song of the Ankaranth

 

All away, all away,
cursed and blessed,
the ordained waters bled.
All away, all away,
the Ankaranth stand alone,
letting the gods take their lives’ daily bread.

 

Sinking under the land,
crying with their struggle,
contacting death as an eager friend.
Screaming with hands upright,
letting fatigue wash them over,
adrenaline powering a futile fight,
though a massacre’s blood will blend.

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