Through the halls of iron and the vaults of stone,
The designation sounds, a truth made known.
Nine Geor Three, the number of the watch,
A tally of the souls that none shall touch.
We stand as bastions where the light grows thin,
A barrier ʾgainst the void that creeps within.
Nine for the cycles of the sun’s long trek,
Geor for the earth that we shall ever protect.
Three for the pillars that uphold the gate,
Defying the whims of a cruel and shifting fate.
Nine Geor Three, the anthem of the bold,
Written in blood, and etched in ancient gold.
