To the tune of Lord Franklin

We were homeward bound one night from Sable Leap

Riding on my bison I fell asleep

I dreamed a dream and I thought it true

Concerning Orat and his gallant few

With a dozen Storm Bull brave and uncouth

To the Devil's Playground in the week of Truth

To seek the lost Eye of the dread Wakboth

Against whom we Urox have sworn our troth

Through cruel hardships they vainly strove

The men through tunnels and caves were drove

Only the Death Finder with his hazia urn

Was the only one that ever did return

In darkened depths where the krarshtkids go

The fate of Orat no man may know

The fate of Orat no tongue can tell

Khan Orat alone with the Maimed God does dwell

And now my burden it gives me pain

For my long-lost Orat I would cross the plain

Ten thousand silver I would freely give

To know on earth, that my Orat do live