GALATEA, the word carved into stone,
Mantis thinks it a name but does not Know.
The dungeon will not tell them what is Known.
But mystery is at least not their foe.

They consider the word or maybe name,
Does it belong a being or a place?
Whatever the case, it is all the same,
Of what came before, a left behind trace.

They settle down there near the camp to sleep,
A giant moth on their brow is resting,
The dungeon may all its mysteries keep.
(...Knowledge was not what they were requesting;

Down in the abyss they had fell into,
They had asked not for power, but for aid.
They were scared, until they started to Know
One day they would get out as they prayed.)