Pale-skinned, marsh dwellers, emerge from your murky caves, wanderlust takes hold
The way stands clear, a gaping maw set to swallow the future
We travel across the burning sands to an open coast, greeted with waves of indifference
Northward over mountains which rise like spears offering twisted paths
Crooked smiles at the abysmal nothingness above

Oh, these sour times
We return covered in rags and our filth
Dissension in our ranks like our closest friend
Home has been sacrificed in the harvest of experience