There exists an ancient text as new as yesterday.
Bound in things best left ignored, it has one thing to say.

A simple message told in rhyme, it waits for one to read.
Until such time as it is spoken, so to it is freed.

The Corvus Prince, Penumbral Son, the Uncrowned King awaits.
From Neverwere he rises up, and marches on his gates.

A step before a step again he walks in patient stride.
Unwavering and steady on, he rises like the tide.

Read not the words, the Prince's creed, be silent, walk away.
From the moment that the words are spoken, you have but one day.