Duvettetulate

"Humans so predictablooga, Boring" In the Congolium obsidian guffaws Of the Dragan Landmore drift Came the muck of sixteen melons And they set sail on a ship And the fist pound holy shatters Iron bands unbreak And he woke and saw his bedroom And a thousand feathers baked He said thanks for the cast iron bands And the girl with feathers that define And I never will be spread again For I am the Duvette human now And so set back with the holy cold And the land it need the blue warmth And he cried I didn't ask for any of this Forgiveness nor Father's love And he made then the cast iron bands And his mind was free to spread And when he awoke on the morrow Feathers hard start soaking red He said thanks for the cast iron bands And the girl with feathers that define And I never will be spread again For I am the Duvette human now "Predictablooga... So amusing, yet tragic." Through the grit of the muck-caked morning, He found the remnants of his creed. Fragments spun, a molten calling, Bound not by flesh but by need. And the furnace roared, consuming still, Its breath a hymn to what was made. No salvation, no divine will Only the grind, the gruesome trade. He said thanks for the cast iron bands And the girl with feathers that define. Though I wear this mantle of despair, I am the Duvette, I align. Through the forge of his own defiance, He shaped a being without name. Neither bound by laws nor science, Yet still a player in their game. "Humans... your tragedy unfolds, Predictablooga... And still, you surprise."