Do you understand this ink stained tongue
Or will you skip through my dreams with out a thort
Will you listen as this crow feather screams
Or will you blindly slip through my broken fishing net
I don't think you'd understand me
Even if I cut of my nose to spite my face
I'd fill my ink pot up with blood
And write you into this ghastly silent place . . .


Penned by my hand on the 21st of Ero, in the year 295 AF.