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In Arvonal, beyond the Flay,
Beyond the Spellbound Sea.
They say there grows, in endless rows,
the branches of the Tan’yatch Tree.
The Tan’yatch Tree, the Tan’yatch Tree,
that I could see the Tan’yatch Tree.
Three worlds that should never be,
all held fast by the Tan’yatch Tree.
Your roots do weep like starlight,
through waters silver blue.
In silence we might pass this way,
and see our journey through.
But single sound would see us drowned
in waters ever still.
Our boats returned, our silence earned,
while you yet drink your fill.
The Tan’yatch Tree, the Tan’yatch Tree,
to sail beneath the Tan’yatch Tree.
This silver shining starlight sea,
it waters yet the Tan’yatch Tree.
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The center path is certain doom;
none pass those shaded eves.
That darkness holds The Broken,
and ensures one never leaves.
To step within that cage of night,
which holds their plague at bay.
Will see their hunger stirred to life
and end our final day.
The Tan’yatch Tree, the Tan’yatch Tree,
to tread upon the Tan’yatch Tree.
The Plague of Flesh contained by thee,
its prison now the Tan’yatch Tree.
We shall not name what lies above,
and stalks the sunlit leaves.
That canopy recalls our sins,
and for our fall it greaves.
The spell work of a fallen house,
the brothers we betrayed.
A final act, a soulbound pact,
a debt each day they’ve paid.
The Tan’yatch Tree, the Tan’yatch Tree,
forgive us now oh Tan’yatch Tree
Three worlds that must always be,
our memory, our Tan’yatch Tree.