The predictions of Nostrilanus have been unsealed after being unearthed in the catacombs of Paris:

There the sindaco will open the city’s arms to the wind bearers,
Asking the inhabitants to breathe their air from metal vessels
Political rectitudo and leftist placitis infectas
Will reveal a cavalcade of coffins of those dying in hospitium

It will then descend on the city founded by those who fled Bastan,
Where people live like sea birds secured by osier and wattle,
And where the Silk Road ended on the land of Deecee,
Thereafter the valley of monuments and Clovis, the Hopi awake

The Empire of the Maganaut, where the proud cock crows,
Where a cloud-touching white tower will watch as a lonely sentinel
On empty thoroughfares, where the fake god with cryptic smile,
Will wonder at the fate of quick food with tribus stellae,