Adiaphanous the garden's clouds persist,
Preciel fades, the flowers must still exist.
Through the echoes it forges the fableist,
A tale of dazzling dirt and colourless welkin must intertwist.

Forget me not...
You are the escapist, the woolgatherer,
A butterfly lost in time's embrace.
Bring fate, for the insect to feast.

The spectator sneered,
The stars left the stagery,
And then, on the final forgery,
The one who prevails has been resurrected.

Good night Vortigern, you need not lie anymore,
For only the golden ciel remains in elysium.