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The Legend of PiratesTHE LEGEND OF PIRATES:
THE SEA BREEZE was cold, but Chenbeard welcomed it as he stepped out onto the deck; his memories plagued him and he found himself unable to sleep. Having spent the past hour tossing and turning endlessly in his hammock, he decided that he'd rather go for a walk to clear his mind. Of course, considering the fact that he and his crew were out at sea, walking wasn't exactly a plausible option given that he had nowhere to go, but he felt that a few rounds around the quiet deck might help to ease his mind. Even if you want me to forget, there is simply no chance that I can do that
"Gem for your thoughts Captain?" said Angel, descending lightly from the sky. Chenbeard was startled, but he masked it quickly. It was easy to forget that Angels rarely slept.
"Nay, I am simply being bothered by the demons of the past. It is nothing that you and your heavenly arts may exorcise, for it is a mental wound and not a s
Cold Lying CreatureCold Lying Creature:
Cold and arrogant slithering beast, your tongue is forked with lies
Do you intend to take my dignity or perhaps to sully my eyes?
No matter how much you speak of warmth; affection, care or love
I know that you are simple twisted; an assassin from above
Did you think I would not see the truth, or perhaps you thought me blind?
Perhaps you felt you could deceive this man, for he is simply kind
Woe is me the naive fool, taken in by your stories of harder times
Sadly my dear, I'm an utter sadist and the punishment will fit the crime.
I will lash your body, with the best of whips; let the leather bite in close
And then I'll let you hang for awhile, whilst you stare at me morose.
Why so serious, do I frighten you badly, is this not what you want?
When you slithered into my happy home, it was a vicious seed you sought to plant
But frankly I'm evil, much more than you are, I am the darkness beneath your bed
I'm afraid that when you close your eyes, it's me you
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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