Lands that once flourished with noble dynasties are dry as a brick
Druidic magic is silent, a blip --
The horizon is thick with cyclonic mists which give the Sirens a lisp
Our guide is a cross between an anteater and a type of a sphinx
human hands instead of claws and integrated scythes in its wrists
Pardon my not introducing myself;
I'll be describing this myth,
They sleep in oases that are rife with the sick
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