When the pool that has no color calls, the hand must give its own
For blood of True and Primeval both shall pay the ferry home
The dimension lost to time and space wait not for those who plead
They open only to the one who bleeds the eldest creed
Twice shall the crown be offered up, and twice shall it be worn
But only what is set down whole may pass where ash is borne
The mask that saves a thousand lives must die upon the face
For quintessence cannot truly bloom while shadows hold its place
Beware the kneeling of the proud, for kneeling is not loss
The silhouette unfinished waits where all the futures cross
What eats, and watches, and remains shall gather in one name
And that which you cannot reject, you must become, or be become
---
Noah's eyes flashed with an incandescent light, his body still shedding gray filth into the sand, and across the distance the hands of Anaximander, moved by another, reached for THE Aurate Collar of the First Purity.
...!
