Light your torches
And close your doors,
For well you know
The local lore.

They’ll come from high
And fall below
To the great Fire
And soon will grow.

Spinning, turning,
Ever wide,
The chiming stars,
The ripping tide.

They’re all about
To dance and sing.
They’ll call you down,
A cage of rings.

Down low stairs
And to the stars,
They’ll laugh with you
And give you scars.

Dripping, dropping
Red hot blood,
They’ll sink to you
And crawl from mud.

Standing, staring,
In the night,
They’ll make you die
With all their might.