A hallowed hall

of death's dark dawn,

A place of dusty dead,

Will gather pagens

falsely gained,

'Tween pillars of ruby red.

In burning places

halls of flame,

A wolven wears a mask,

A darkened patch

of snarling fur,

In clothes of soft damask.

In blackened walls

of marble stone,

Carve faces frozen in terror,

And yellow robes

of silk and cloth,

Hide barely the dirt of the wearer.

So only those

of keenest sight,

will figure out the clues,

Of all the wounds

and charrings deep,

Beneath the reds and blues.

Beware the wolves.