The First Prophecy of Four
To eloquent dances of war,
To red blossoms of death,
The caress of a weapons mouth,
The love of pouring lead.
Of true royalty and a heart of stone,
Of two-faced sea dwellers with a love of gold,
Of a prince that was what he was not,
Of a girl whose sister she herself fought.
The oath was written long ago,
Beneath a mountain where rivers flow,
By a man who had little to lose.
Who enchanted a charm to be the fuse.
Twice it repeats, twice it ends.