The Book of Habidabad

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"The prophecy didn't say anything about this." -Jen

"Prophets don't know everything!" -Kira

Of the race of Habidabad, I, Habidabad, am alone, the first and last.
Born from the need for rocks and trees for an eye to see the World.
The wind blew and the blind trees sang
and the roots twisted in the dark rocks and the roots
sang and the rocks cracked and I was Habidabad. This is my song.