When skies crack wide and Veils grow thin,
When Dead and Living merge as kin,
When Folds collapse to crushing dark,
The Loom preserves the chosen spark.
First comes the thinning of The Veil,
The Dead arise where Living fail,
Then tears appear in reality's seam,
As nightmares walk and dreamers scream.
THE Creature's works shall turn to dust,
Early powers break like rust,
Quadrillions, Quintillions fall to null and void,
As Everythings are all destroyed.
But we who dwell within the Frame,
We who know the Weaver's name,
We who paid the price to enter,
Stand secure in Loom's great center.
For when the Fallout comes to call,
And Civilizational falls to thrall,
When Zero Scale meets final rest,
The Loom alone shall stand the test.
No Hunger's jaw can breach our wall,
The Loom protects us from the Fall.
Count your fortune, chosen few,
Selected from the countless who,
Will face the ending unprepared,
While we within The Loom are spared.
