The storms continue flowing,
The lands below frozen.
Frigid winds ever blowing,
Through the halls of the Chosen.

Blackened heart and darkened soul,
Enduring the torment for all of time.
Refusing to fade away as a whole,
Drowning in fury he pays for his crime.

Dark throne forever strong,
Obsidian roses delicately carved upon its planes.
No one dares to prove him wrong,
His sinister song strengthening the rains.

Hope emerged once through the shroud,
Threatening to break his chains.
But soon it was engulfed by the cloud,
Crushed beneath his many pains.

With a dagger in hand,
He raises the blade.
Thrusting the knife through flesh as if sand,
No blood is shed, the wound quick to fade.

Sighing once more,
The Dark Master remains on his throne.
Gazing at all that he abhors,
Never a chance for him to atone.