The tide of the dream

Batters against the walls of the Basin

We wonder what it does mean

To the arms of our Father, we do hasten

 

With His might, he swims upstream

To find the source of this torrent

It is here that He plans His scheme

To use His four axioms and set a warrant

 

For the Dreamer has stirred

An event not one could have predicted

We must place the fool within a gird

Should we not stop him, our most precious moments will be afflicted

 

The flesh of a mortal

Such a mundane guise

One cannot help but chortle

As we have faith it will lead to the Dreamer’s demise

 

He walked into their hellish wood

The Nightmare, now the hermit Gianam

He bade them listen, preaching of the nightmares as He stood

That He was a servant of the Forest Dream, and He had been for the longest span

 

Those of the Seren to the infested realm

Where He convinced them he would make contact

It was a simple plan, for those of the Seren are easy to whelm

A month passed, and there was no sign of combat

 

We shall collect the baubles of Hoaracle!

That was His plan

Yet a child from New Celest stated that this may be a ruse, of Drocilla, to strike us upon our auricle

Oh, silly child, we have had faith since His plan began

 

As the plan came to fruition

Maylea, the Bloom of Serenity, cast aside the veil

It was there that she revealed the Nightmare’s true mission

With a cackle and a near, our Father returned to the Commune, for we had collected our Grail

 

He urged us to build the needle

A thing of great power

It was with this tool, against the Dreamer, we would treadle

The coward Maylea came up with another plan, as she did cower

 

A poison upon her lips

For a kiss was the greatest gift she could give Him

Approaching him, she was one in number, but she feasts as the thrips

Our Father’s anger at this gift, it filled him to the brim 

 

Scathing at the wretch

He tore a hole into the dreaming

But wait! What is revealed? Hurry, go to the Needle, fetch!

It was with great joy, at the reveal of such a tree, that we were beaming!

 

The Needle drilled into bark so weak

Stealing his essence

Taking what little power remained in the hands of the meek

It was in our hands now, the greatest quintessence

 

Glory be to Glomdoring!

We have won victory this day.

Another victory awaits, for in the Needle, Hope is storing

For the Maeve, so with us, she may stay