Long ago, I heard a sound.
It was soft at first, but swelled to a nearly unbearable resonance.
It was simple at first, but grew complex and wonderful.
The first notes brought forth a great shape.
The second ones, definition.
The sound continued, and the world was born.
My master sang it effortlessly,
and ended it with a whisper.
My master taught me the chorus,
but never the verse.
This song is mighty, I was told
If completed again, it would unravel the world
and leave the primordial in the singer's hands.
It must never again be sung, I was told.
My master is gone now
The world is twisted and broken
I must fix what has been ruined
I must hear that sound again.
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