I could twiddle my thumbs as the world is stained a sepia hue; look at the room's corners until they replace my psyche

I could sit with endlessly repeating notes playing through my head

And words that never leave, either

I... when keys and pages are old and lifeless

Sit

And listen

Only the wind can be heard howling between the spires above

There is no sun

Only moonlight coldly illuminating the stone around me

I am the master

The occupant

The Keeper

“On this dread field we gather. Our blades, sharp. And the drums echo the beat of our ardent hearts.”

                            
Singing and slaying, a picture painted darkly
                                
an instant illuminated, like a war among the stars

made by lightning and the rain

                              
Hoping but knowing, this could be the last chapter
                                                  
and how the world is in your sight, between the flashes of steel

is marked by the courage in your eyes

                                                        
A chorus of thunder follows our voices, bounding over the field of death
                                                      
tonight we all live by the second and strive against darkness with every breath

'Tis horrible to wield a word
To slight and slander me
'Tis better to deploy them
For fable, myth and story

There are maddest multitudes in words
Contain divinest sense
It's possible to convey magic
In every single tense

But bastardize words cynically
If you really must
But know in slight you've broken
The cherishable crystal of my trust

A bard is hard to pigeonhole
So, really, mate, try it all you like
I'll be waxing lyrical
While you're still playing psych