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Prelude to a Winter PeaceAct I:
[Setting: A dark, unidentified room dimly lit by candlelight. A figure we know only as Maestro sits on a white throne, looking bored. He lays his head in his hand and taps at the armrest.]
Maestro: Claude! [He snaps his fingers.]
[Claude appears from stage left, pulling a large object, Piedra. He sets it down and bows.]
Claude: Good evening, my lordy-lord. I came here to-
Maestro: [sighs. He seems aggravated.] What happened this time?
Claude: Well, you see, you see, my lordy-lord; he was chasing this pest away from his birdy when-
[Nein appears from the opposite side of the stage, clad in blood-stained robes.]
Nein: Thisss time, Maestro, the fat one tangled with them again.
[Maestro smirks briefly. This is the only true emotion he has shown so far.]
Maestro: And? Their performance?
Nein: It seems we are about ready, my massster, to-
Claude: To put on the Grand Retour.
Maestro: Draw sword from stone and hold back the tide. Revolu
In The Chronicles of Flame...
Born of love
and of strength
in face of fear...
They tell of men of might
who could succeed in their fights-
burned through the dark in their own rights.
And I will tell that I won't mind
to be a man of thier own kind...
Yet still to this one day
as I stand upon this stage
I am not writ upon a page
in the Chronicles of Flame.
What great evil must I slay-
When must true I save the day-
To be penned upon a page
of the Chronicles of Flame...?
How can one make such a name
when father, son are both the same?
What must I do to have my name
Etched in the Chronicles of Flame...?
There are stories
told at night by firelight-
And they tell of all those names
found in the Chronicles of Flame.
I won't rest 'till I have my name
known by thousands all the same.
All that stand within my way
shall be burned into their place-
As I strive to paint my face
into the Chronicles of Flame..
Long ago there was a name
known in everlasting fame-
I Shall learn to be the same,
Call.This is my sword-
my Atlantis soul.
If you haven't figured out
I'd think you should know:
I'm old enough to rule
and I rule I survive.
I know you'd like the rhyme
but I don't have the Time.
I cannot break it up
So I'll have to break it down-
Can you hear the love-
can you hear the love?
I said can you hear the love-
hear the love?
You might find it hard-
Find it hard to breathe...
Facing up the god-
The god that is me.
(Say "Incendia" with me, my people!
Say "Ignis ex"!
all in the name of-
of the Burning King!)
This is my soul-
My heart-rending sword.
Shatterer of silence,
The downfall of hordes.
I've broken down the circle
and I've broken down halls-
An angel of this song-
She has lost her words.
Flying up high to crush the carrion birds!
This is my sword, Mononoke, my soul.
Piercer of innocence,
of your role.
The best of this song
is the one-two storm-
dragged from the hearts
of the saddest sheep born.
We're the keepers of the city keys;
we're the pa
Kami Ai- Step On The Stone rmxCrimson tears, O, born of blood
Fall to the ground.
Bringing with them the soft scent
That burning wildflowers meant.
Angels dance, silently. Invisible
To those whose eyes are made of jade,
Created by a false god.
Why must these things be said against us?
Hateful words from weak hearts,
Afraid of a love like ours.
Why is it we must face discrimination from dolls?
Forged of dirtied cloth,
Sown together by a child-
Born on unholy terms?
Pounding on the cover,
Yearning to escape
My heart still lives,
Yearning for your rescue.
Canta per me, my lovely.
Knife's edge: S+S Remix."The line between hunger and anger is a thin one indeed." Spoke the Cat, lounging about in his oversized office chair, swirling a cup
of fine red wine.
"Keep them happy, keep them fed." He continued, gazing down from his window.
Eyes above the world.
"We do that, and they'll offer us the last shards of their hearts."
"There are none easier to manipulate than fanatics" Spoke the Advisor in the darkness
"There are none easier to manipulate than fanatics." Spoke the Cat...
Story of a Torn Page Within the tired, tinsel-less town of Torn Page, a market made way for a careful cart that contained the cold corpse of a little boy.
What, do you ask, happened to this lad? Why such an icy fate for such innocence?
I shall answer thee, of there, now, and then. My name? Oh, please- call me M.
Long ago, there existed a book- A tome of great and terrible power. This book contained a series of numbers, letters, dashes and dots. Rows and rows of mathematical, anatomical, psychological, spiritual, and chemical equations. And what did these two dimensional characters amount to, you may wonder?
Power was what those words spoke of. Their author, a small, subtle scholar had stumbled upon this 'ultimate combination' by horrible happenstance- a mistake that cost him dearly.
A friend, once known as kind and calm, sinisterly let slip a small part of the super-secret for a stupidly small
ode to a triple-cornered crownI've gazed upon the city streets
for a thousand nights and one.
The cobbled path a wizard took
is where my world begun.
A fabled flower told a tale
of mysteries unseen.
a taller tale of crimson cloaks
and shattered eyes of green.
forgotten though my words might be,
they'll forever far and wide.
A blade of boon from bluest moon
cannot ever stem the tide.
Windowed widows find relief
in ambrosia tainted sour
but this young lad could stay a hand
to preserve a wilted flower.
A robin's plume foretells its doom
as minstrels clearly sing.
A fire's bloom is lost too soon
by accord of the crimson king.
In a twilight-boarded city
o, forgotten by the sun
a system born of celerity
sees a child's use as done.
Sanctuary holds no herald's candle
in this town of which i tell
but a better place my heart is placed-
not this northern plane of hell.
A flamelit man of endless signs
helps tears o, not to run-
thus weeping mothers hold back their cries
of "Kyrie Eleison"
Daylight dawns upon the face
of a s
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