A world of metal, meant to fill the hole,
That’s left within a silver golem’s soul,
A pristine plane that glimmers ‘neath the moons,
Untainted by the sins of flesh and bone,
Its core is humming with unearthly tunes,
And serenades the one who waits, alone.
Beneath the floating suns, a pool of oil,
Remembers distant worlds, and starts to boil,
And there it spreads its sickness through the lands,
It flies like heavy smoke and scattered mists,
Through years of patience, slowly spreads its hands,
To clench the metal world within its fists,
And so corrodes that shining world so bright,
Into the darkness of compleated night.

The plane of Zendikar, where mana sings,
And even lands react like living things!
The energy from lands is like a child,
And like all children with defiant wills,
The mana here is truly something wild,
And rushes forth! At times, it even kills.
But deep within this world which fate has stalked,
A horrifying secret has been locked.
The orphans of the Aether wait within,
The hedrons’ lattice, their eternal cell,
For centuries they’ve waited to begin
Their path of vengeance born from out that hell,
The lock is broken now, the end of times
Has come, and now the world pays for its crimes.

A glorious and beautiful expanse,
That anyone would envy at a glance,
Through untold reaches, precious lands would span,
And rarely scorched by sun or kissed by frost,
A paradise of snake and fox and man,
And all the rest who’ve seen what they have lost.
Now locked in crystals is that lofty sky,
As all the lands below begin to die.
Now all the world is trapped behind the wall,
The city streets a jail with no escape,
And all except the strong begin to fall
Between the cracks below the cityscape.
The beauty once existed, now erased,
Within the vast Jakkard, the endless Waste.

The plane of Livna is a dreary place,
Where rains cascade like tears upon a face,
The Heavens' water forms a constant wave,
And pools in streets, assailing doors and walls,
The people pray in vain for gods to save
Their drowning world, and yet the rain still falls.
The blacksmiths weep, lament their useless brawn,
For from this ground, no metal can be drawn,
The fires in the forges scarcely burned,
They have no way to work their precious steel,
And then, one day, by happenstance they learned
A way to solve their problems with a deal.
And so the rains give way to deeper dread,
For now the skies rain hammers down instead.