I've written this story,
Thousands of times in my head.
But when it comes to pen and paper,
I run out of things to be said.
The bard, the mire, the sleuth
His lute, his fear, his truth.
Traveller through time,
His words chill the spine.
Oh, weaver of tales,
Hunter of lies.
Falter not to failure,
Or meet demise.
Songs will save thee,
Open all eyes to see.
Though the devil is in the details,
His chord, echoes on all that fails.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
I've written this story,
Thousands of times in my head.
But when it comes to pen and paper,
I run out of things to be said.
The bard, the mire, the sleuth
His lute, his fear, his truth.
Traveller through time,
His words chill the spine.
Oh, weaver of tales,
Hunter of lies.
Falter not to failure,
Or meet demise.
Songs will save thee,
Open all eyes to see.
Though the devil is in the details,
His chord, echoes on all that fails.
