This is a rhyme sung by the residents of the Malikar Wastes, a warning to those who go to far east, an island far off the shore where fog roams, the home of the beast known as the Silent Phantom. He leaves his island home to feast upon the wastes, as tall as a building yet as quiet as a whisper, his burning red eyes are the last thing many see before his toothy maw becomes their resting place. Not a sound he makes in voice or step, generations he has roamed, alone and quiet, it is said that the day the moon becomes a bloody red fog will claim the land and the Phantom will finally be heard. – Requested by karimd2002@gmail.com (Alias: Grim the Tyrannical)