Beneath a storm-laced, blood red sky,
On a desolate, wind-swept shore,
The Nameless One doth in agony, lie.
For untold eons he hath lain in wait--
Only leaving this nocturnal strand
When some poor mortal calls open the gate.
But, then can his leprous wings take flight,
As he soars o'er the realm of darkened dreams
To travel through time and pitch black night.
Thus, to slacken his hunger and finally feed
On the dreams of those who unknowingly called
The Nameless One, that he can fulfill a dreadful need.
