From blackmist we came, to blackmist we return.
To the ash of the hearth where no fire will burn.
We are shadows that drift in a sun-blinded hall,
Claiming the height while we wait for the fall.

We gather our trophies of silver and bone,
We build up our walls and we sit on a throne,
But the fog has no hands, yet it pulls down the gate,
It has no desire, yet it masters our fate.