Am I a professional friend? Getting to know someone, my thing Getting closer, too much I could listen all day, But my life, unexplainable I live in my head, too much I try to be dependable Reliable, trustworthy, present Yet, don't know how to share, myself When all I have is surface level And my deepness only lives within How can I be anything? myself Say everything right, Do everything I can, And try not to look within
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.