The worlds were still, heartless and fill with darkness
No creatures living the features unforgiving no smartness
No streams to blend not even a team of men the place empty
A disgrace simply to exist in this form just a brisk storm of wimpy
Mass floating and promoting nothing good time for a godly session
No law imperial just raw material waiting to be shaped for manly profession
No strategy or aggression and that bought a battery of questions
To god after an odd grave storm god gave it form with blessings