That of thereof,
much to my demise. . .
that these days have been.
A yearning that no one will ever replace,
a place where i found,
my noose upon these neck of a turtle-that is none but a ninja-
weilding a fork to taste a sweet bittermelon, that has been dunk in a sauce of life.
Ahh contemplate me an ocean,
where i can at least talk to mother Tiamat,
and listen of all her deluded lies of the world,
and I wont be a Marduk about it.