[Narrative]
Came to pass, in the time thereafter,
The Creator left, the World moved onward.
Seeking perfection to end what's not.
To cease the pain-of imperfection's hurt.
Within this song, Aeonic is its name;
The Creator's fate, his actions and deeds.

This is a tale, told by many names.
A story told many times, repeated moreso.
This is a history, of it made great acclaim;
The Creator, maker of the World-
and multitudes more.

[The Creator]
To all creation speak, record henceforth my words.
I am he who made the World-terrible and great.
Perfect was it, neither marred nor scarred.
Indeed, wonderful and marvelous was it,
now broken and imperfect, corrupted.

Anew must it be made, until perfection reached.
I seek it to be perfect, cleansed and clean.
My perfect nature demands it thus-
alas I am both merciful and just.
Sworn to leave it be,
I grant this mercy, to be free.

Again and again I lament;
My choices mean naught without the World.
Can I create the height of perfection once-more?
Shall a new Orb I create, full of green and blue?
The crown of perfection-the World I adore.

Should a new Orb be made, Perfect shall it be.
Indeed, this I can agree.
Many I shall make, not bound by number-
A host shall be made, all perfect as this.

[Narrative]

A song did he sing, Aeonic is its name.
A world did he shape, 'imperfect!' did he claim.
Indeed -flawed in some way- cast aside, where they.
So many Worlds did he make,
lights of the Heavens, these did he forsake.
All so flawed, all he could create.