Pine Gate Through the pine gate Woods ashen gray The fairie sits on the Throne of thorn and Bone, antlers rising up To the bow of an ancient Oak - the last of its kind. Wanderers wonder what Treasures; lies through the Gate, but never make it Alive to tell tall tales of Ruler faire and Daur Entombed in the dying Grove where no mortal dwells.
Words can't be taken back Easily the hardest thing to master Wondering how it might have been Regrets, like ghosts; Wandering in the recesses, Finding past mistakes Friends lost, Broken comradary, Shattered dreams of forever Regrets, like ghosts; Forlornly remembering, Good times A hard word, a rude tone, Said to those we love Over what? A small thing Regrets, like ghosts; Of a word, a thought, an action, Spiral into the void Fresh day, new prospective, Take it as it comes No looking back Regrets, like ghosts; Haunting the mind In the middle of the night