SING IN THE DARK a new song, a wordless song.
Raise the tocsin and the bone flute. Speak in the voice of the drum.
Sing for the loss of the King: sing for the loss of Willbreaker.

ORYX OUR GEOMETER shaped us. Before Him we were nothing:
Without Him we are nothing: we are nothing in His command.
The royal knife cuts away excess and leaves sweet pain.

WILLBREAKER'S BLADE is the length of the universe
It blots out stars and gives shade to the weary
All who tire of life and its struggle
All the sapient and cursed give way to the knife
And its eclipsing will.
Who are we without the Lord of Shapes?
What hand will guide us?
What knife will cut away that which we do not miss?
What nerves will spark and signal our limbs to move?

THE KING IS AGONY: His absence worse.
We look to the dark, we look for another
One to raise the blade of shaping.

SING IN THE DARK a song of waiting, a patience song
Pluck at the hair-strung harp. Cry out to the depths.
Sing until an answer comes.

THE ANSWER COMES. THE ANSWER COMES.
WE WILL IT: THE ANSWER COMES.