Your lips have been dethroned and disposed of properly.
In the filthy back bone of a jungle, they lie; never to rule again.
Medieval recycling is always honest, you know?
You know this.

Perhaps someone will write an Epic about it one day.
After ways are parted and enough people are broken; then unbroken.
Perhaps the life of fire starting isn't for me anymore.
Perhaps I've been burning for too long now.
You really never know with these things.
With these things you never really know.