One more drop in the salty sea,
Is what another tear would be.
I beg of You to not leave yet.
I fear with time we'll all forget.

I heard a robin's song today.
Was it sorrowful or gay?
Like the ringing of the bells.
If it's glad, I cannot tell.

Father when You're listening,
When my tears are glistening.
You can feel the same as I.
We'll both feel sad and we will sigh.

The winter wind upon my tail.
Feels like stormwind on the sail.
The shrine I weep at falls to rot.
Tainted essence. All I've got.

The Dwarven race is not the same.
Like the injured, we are lame.
Fare You well, upon Your travel.
While your Chosen all unravel.

I raise my wooden, rotting chalice.
To the one that caused us malice.
For so long I've had this itch.
To tell Grima she's a W-itch.

Blackrock Dwarves you burn in hell.
I won't forgive 'till all have fell.
One day my Father will return.
And Your caves I hope He'll burn.

-Mayapple, the Prophet of Phaestus

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Phaestian, in the year 409 AF.