Crossing the Vile

The rivers of reefer, the resin the reaper Oceans of black doom, a seers beaconing Only he can undo, burn away the festering The rivers of reefer, the resin the reaper Wraps his ancient knees, holds the sickness in Onwards his march proceeds, the wizards calling him The wizard Black mass, throat grasp, flayed lungs, green guts The last torch ignites, he drinks from the bile His eyes searching for two lights in the sky The sickness consumes, he trembles in fear The light drawing close, the eyes of the seer