1
In the den of restless sound, where the souls of men are gone;
Where all nature has departed, not a single breath is breathed.
In the coldest of penumbran night, with no soul or distant light;
Sleeps the Wretched Automaton.

Hear the ghostlike peals and bangs, feel the thrumming;
Smell the deathly decay, and feel the vibrant energy.
See the restless machinery, moving forevermore;
To achieve some long unknown goal.

Red eyes leer from fetid shade, accompanied by the restless clang!
Rusted joints moving, shedding rust, as is rubbing away time itself.
Here stands the newly awakened Automaton;
Guarding the darkest heart of Man.

Rusted sound carries through the ageless halls, warning all that lingers;
This is its home, this place of death and sickness bound.
For all that wanders in this place will soon find;
The hatred of the Automaton.

2
See the forest, its trees reaching tall, as if rising against the tyranny;
That man once held over all that lives.
Yet here we see that man still lives, as he hunts for his survival;
And stumbles into the fetid darkness.

Onward he steps, wary of this dark and evil place, to reclaim the prey he lost;
His bare feet are soundless along the darkened hall, his heart is slow and sure.
His eyes are wide and fearful, his ears keen for any attack, he walks slowly onward;
While within the restless spirits call out, tempting him with dark desire.

Spear in hand, sword at side, a relic of once long ago;
He walks ever onward, deeper into the eclipsed halls.
The battle-drums of the machinery sound, though no enemy is to be found;
Yet the Hunter knows not to trust his sight.

A light flickers on, startling the focused hunter, revealing the dead of long ago;
Here the Hunter rests, wondering about this dark and hateful place.
He gathers the bones of long ago, and sets them in ritual;
To release the spirits trapped inside.

3
Devil’s eyes watch silently, its purpose slowly forming;
A step forward is all that is needed, a quick slash to fragile skin.
And all the Hunter sees is darkness, but his heart hears the most dreaded sound;
Of Death arriving at last.

The Hunter stands, defiant of the Demon lurking;
He screams his battle cry, for the spirits of the lost to help him.
He turns to face the metallic beast, his mind is locked in fright;
In the cold, unbeating heart of Death.

The Demon strikes, shattering the spear the Hunter wields;
The Hunter leaps away, his fear gives way to hatred.
The Demon steps forward, sharp talons wreathed in light;
And Hunter charges forward, defiant to the End.

In the den of restless sound, where the souls of men are gone;
Where all nature has departed, one single breath is breathed.
In the twilight of deception, where Man killed for pleasure;
Sleeps finally, the last Automaton.