One day life will smite you; you who has one glass eye. Whose cold gaze warms the hearts of those who are ignorant, and on their ignorance you feed. If it were to be lacked, The King will be replayed. Half the distant smirk stabs with intent to wound; the other half shines brighter than the Sun. Where the flowers died, a Dandelion grows. You can never imagine the unimaginable. Inside your folder are the words. The words that were missing in those awkward silences; that never came to us when we needed them most; that were the right answer. You held them in your folder for no one to read; not even you.
So while your mice fly and your toads sing beautifully, I am not fooled. The King always failed to clean up after himself.
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