by: Cherlingo date: Circa -500 DR source: The Leaves of One Grass [Chorus] Enjoy the play when shadows steal the day. All the world is half the world for those who learn to walk. To feast on fungus soft and peel the sunlit stalk; Tarry not in place, for in their sleep the gods do stay. But care be known, step light of foot and soft of voice. Dare not stir divine to bring forth Sunder's day! A loss profound lies just a short ways away; The tear shall't come, a choice, or not a choice. Oh, aye, again the time wandering of lonely world! Where kingdoms fall and treasures slip from finger's tip. And foes reek sharp of their gods' strange, particular flavor. Sundered, whole, across celestial spheres are hurled, Beyond the reach of dweomer and the wind-walker's ship, With baubles left for those the gods still favor. [Chorus] Enjoy the play when shadows steal the day... The leaves of one grass weave their lore, A path of twilight threads. The dance of whispers on the floor Of lands where sunlight dreads. Beware the beckon of the fallen starry tide, For nets of night ensnare the steps of wandering men. A tapestry of threads where darkest fates collide, Unraveling the light and tearing through inside; A shadow weaves, and none may weave again. Oh, aye, the song that stirs the gloam and waves the very air. Its chords can rend the stone, yet written in despair. To speak its verse is folly, lest the gods should surge. The Harp that breaks was never made for hands to bear; Its notes a wound, a memory no soul can share. The echoes rise, but never to converge. [Chorus] Enjoy the play when shadows steal the day... A mirror holds the hollow kin, Where life and death entwine. Its glass will trap what lies within, And sunder thought from time. The shadow's step is silent, though its tether burns, A flicker lost to light, a path none dare to stray. The Blackened Rose blooms once, but nevermore returns, Its petals drawn where twilight turns; A thorn to pierce the heart of fleeting day. Oh, aye, the gate that opens wide beneath the stone! Its frame is wrought by hands of time in endless shade. To cross its bounds is folly, for the stars will purge. The toll it claims is neither coin, nor flesh, nor bone; It takes the self, where selves no longer may be made. The cost is paid, and nothing shall emerge. [Chorus] Enjoy the play when shadows steal the day.
