Let the burden of bitterness, The curse of Sidony befall, Isgarren, in solitary sorrow, Alone in his tower. Enslaved to Tyria, he claims perfection, May his reputation be blighted, His position stolen, his perception blinded, This eternal grudge befalls him. Who stands at the gate, Who is doomed to watch over all, Standing above the ground, Watching, ever waiting. Isgarren, the father, cries in vain, Back bent in passive supplication, The weight of the sky he will carry. This solitude remains, endless, Lest the seer of all itself should end, The heavy sky will oppress him so long as he remains. So speaks Sidony, So it is written, so it will be done.