The Black Owl

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The Storytelling Pidan

Moonlight shines silver,

Bladed black glass,

Shimmering diamonds of dew,

Above the sky of deep indigo,

A garden of Eden,

Unknown to the beast named man.

We are the holy ones,

We have sacrificed our blood,

For the garden of Eden,

To protect the pidan.

A lonely life in the garden,

Centuries pass and yet it remains,

Awaiting the never due pardon,

Beauty and evil it retains.

Crying rain of quicksilver,

Strands of dark grass,

Brings the nightly, nurturing rue,

Watching the petals of au,

The storytelling pidan,

For his lust he was damned.

We are the damned ones,

We have martyred our blood,

For the death of Eden,

To end the pidan.

Webs of lies,

Envelop our minds,

The Storyteller wins the game,

That we were forced to play,

Forever preserved,

In our world of hurt.

Hear the call of the end of time,

We watch our fathers fall,

In one second we retrace our rhyme,

Forsaken to heed the call,

For bound honor,

For our blood,

We killed the non-believer,

Till we become dishonored,

Till the end is made free from becloud,

We drank the blood to fight the fever.

We are the lost ones,

We have lost our blood,

For the new order of Eden,

For the new pidan.

Here we write,

Our final rite,

In the cover of the blackest night,

Our wings broke from the flight.

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