Nonsense runoutta tältä illalta

      Cradle of washed sins,

traded in the isle of mist,

      whirled back to the maidens thyme,

saved from the nurseries rhyme.

Ahki glazed Nashes glowing tear,

    blamed it the Moons freefall sear,

         hindered by noon and vastly foes, -

routine that never ends, -

                                perhaps?

                                             in a voe.

Flame was great,

   and gave Giants their will,

saved mankind from their kin,

                      showed something much more to find:

                                                           that everything was not in vain.