He thought he may have caught Among the snares and creeping vines, A whisper of a thought From the leaves and air entwined. On the savage jungle floor, The corpse of those that come before, Testament to an ancient war Lay bloodied and forlorn. A trap that's set a hundred times or more.
The words were always just! The words were just in his mind, A caricature of conscience What he wished for he would find. Yet in the echoes of the moon, He stood before the snare And knew it to be bare. Why then does the forest sing this mournful tune?
A girl knelt shy by shaded riverside Asking the shadows what they knew. They told tales of light once spoken by the moon, A prophecy come true of a girl named Blue Whose eyes would tame the wild.