a tune on the old wood flute, its tone I often recall a small stream's trickling, just beneath the fall there are the sounds of old, present and new dislikers there are not, or.. very few.. the feelin...
over the glen, and through the dale, the shadows follow us, through the snowy winter's hail we shout an unfortunate cuss with ink and scrawl, we shape our land through the forest claden minds and wit...
Iron-clad hoofs shatter the silentness across the empty city cobble streets, while small, delicate paws slowly, and heavy-heartedly walk behind the strange, hooded figure ahead. Bound at the hands, th...
