The Island nation of Athlan, once ruled by the legendary Council of Four, the Priest, the Warrior, the Poet and the Scientor, each marked with symbols etched into their skin by forces unknown, continues to self-destruct on a physical plane, as well as a moral one. Of the Four, only the Warrior, Kon-r Sighur, has survived and Athlanean society is tearing itself apart, as certain death stalks all of them.
Surrounded by hundreds of thousands Strangers I become microscopic Sitting
On this day I need to Grip the sun With
The news Filtered down From Minneapolis Across the lakes
What should I tell you? About molten steel Industrial lava
Mid-western wheat hissed Through stainless steel funnels Flowing from concrete
I learned to throw the curveball from my father. Not
Dust blind and Oxygen starved faces Bandana wrapped Flannel wrapped
Standing outside of the Church Windy and cold, you approach
Ray McMahon got cut in half By inch thick braided
