The scent of rotten leaves arises
From the stones of old
Which give eternal birth
To fungi, algea, moss and mould
The air could suffocate a man
In numbers far and few
But plentiful the sounds of snakes
Which cut through morning dew
Within the realm of Yuan-Ti
The snake-god rules supreme
Within the realm of twilight
Neither life nor d**h or dream
And with the god's cold-blooded might
He summons snakes of sorts malign
Their venom shall coagulate
The Ourobouros sign
Spewed forth to woods of pagan men
Heralded by sunset
Born at the sound of thunder
The Ophidian Amulet