Ancient men once suffered under the threat of a prehistoric evil
A force waiting for civilisation to discover it
Painting destruction until eventually captured by an alchemist
Who knows what evil survives in our world
Remaining in shadow and collecting dust
An earthquake splits, sundering an abandoned village
In a room, from a shelf, a glass jar shatters
Released, trapped for one hundred years and a thousand before that
A shape flees into the wilderness, scurrying away
Manifesting our worst fears
Escaped from the alchemist’s lair, to revenge its day
Hearts of men now poisoned, pregnant with vitriol
Brutality hanging over a once precarious peace
A weak king is infected
Host now to this wandering evil
Encouraged in necrotic whisper
To wage a final war
Two armies clash, the monarch is slain
Evil does dash and flees again
Searching wide now for a new host
It writhes and climbs like an oil-slick ghost
Back to dust, back to survival, back to rust, back to denial