Beyond the stars where dead gods sleep,
Where light turns cold and shadows weep,
Before the birth of sun or stone,
A cosmic horror reigned alone.
From realms unknown to human thought,
Where timeless madness was begot,
There slumbers in the boundless mass
The dread expanse of Cenélglas.
Not built of flesh, nor carved from bone,
It dwells where abyssal currents groan—
A living color, vast and pale,
Behind the cosmos’ fragile veil.
A shifting shade of ocean deep,
Of ancient moss where adders creep,
The storm-gray sky, the sea’s dark hue,
A sickly green, a frozen blue.
The Green Kindred, the madmen call
This titan writhing in the Void’s dark hall;
A thousand tendrils, coiled and dense,
Ensnaring mind and human sense.
It oozes through the cracks of time,
A silent, iridescent slime,
Whose silent whispers softly creep
To breach the sanctuary of sleep.
In dreams of sunken, ruined spires,
And unremembered, primordial fires,
The sleeper sees the misty glaze,
And wanders through its emerald maze.
For those who gaze into that shade,
Their fleeting sanity shall fade;
They hear the endless, chanting mass
That praises ancient Cenélglas.
And when the stars align at last,
And aeons of quiet sleep are past,
The pale-green wave shall rise and swell,
To breach the earth and break the spell.
The living tide shall swallow all,
And night on humankind shall fall,
Reclaimed within the dark abyss
Of Cenélglas’ eternal kiss.
