Aye there son, would you care to hear a tale,
A story less often told, with an impact strong as a gale.
So come and sit beside me and I shall change your life,
You are in my world now, you are in my hive.

There was once a man, only legends told
could bring a rain of fire, could make young, anything old.
He tamed the valiant storms and angered the shyest breeze,
The minds of every blind scholar he did tease.

As his actions were, so was his conscience.
As he could foretell the beyond, all he needed was his magic lens.
So he willingly helped them, those who frantically approached him,
all in a price not according to anyones whim.

Yet hundreds came seeking his unquestionable power,
Those, who wanted to live a fairy tale and a happily ever after.
Some lost half their lives, some their first children,
And others lived their lives under the vicious soothsayer's burden.

And then one day, people wanted this gimmick to stop.
They wanted to live reasonable lives, the bubble they wanted to pop.
And the people paid no more visits to the soothsayer.
And his whereabouts became dead as the cells on the nails of your finger.

Well thats the end i'm afraid. Pretty foggy isn't it?
My vision through this lens has become blur, as the life of any common bandit.
And now you have heard my story, your life will be a worthy journey.
What is the price you wish to pay me?

As the light slowly etches away the night,
The colours slowly pop up, bold and bright.
They glisten as they finally reach out to their life source,
And suddenly life's denied of any remorse.
The gods have frilled their favorite planet for the grand opening of the year,
A cosmic intervention, a dimension of no fear.
And the trees rejoice, as they humbly accept the gift heavens bring.
And the trees rejoice, as it is the time of the venutian spring.


The planet begins to scorch as the mighty sun brings forth his might,
A new world is put in order, the day shines with the brightest light.
And the nights are shorter, who would want to sleep?
The season is young, brimming, tender and ready to reap.
The aura blankets the lonely planet, a radiance of sheer power,
Automating anything and everything that makes worlds what they are.
And the children rejoice, as they live their childhood like no one shall ever.
And the children rejoice, as it is the time of the mercurial summer.


The third quarter commences, the sun slowly begins to shy away,
The lethargy sets in, the rustling of the leaves fills the empty voids of the day.
What hath this sound done to the mighty Helios, for him to curtail his blazing steeds?
Winds humming, forcing the flame to succumb to their needs.
Orange and gold strewn on the open land, opens the gateway to a world azure.
Dusk dominates this time of the year.
And the winds rejoice, as they blow coupled with the soft rustling percussion.
And the winds rejoice, as it is the time of the erisian autumn.


The year opens to its close, a cloud shedding white precipitate,
has opened itself to the world in which people relate.
A blanket of frost covers all, a preservative by all means.
Few think of this as a time of redeem.
A solitary tree stands, below it, the dead memories of the yester seasons.
The night overpowers the day, rest need not need reason.
And the world rejoices, as it braces itself for the forthcoming year.
And the world rejoices, as it is the time of the martian winter.