There are secrets to tell, secrets to spill, but they are secrets, now, and I shan't say. Secrets of the thousand cuts that bled not a single drop, though the veins laid bare; secrets of what roamed the streets, born of a god's nightmare. Secrets dark, secrets small, hidden whispers thrum along each hall - shrouded mysteries. Hide your heart, cover your eyes, child, these truths may charr your soul, or twist your world upside down. Bitter waters may drink you drown. Watch careful, closely look, in the vale of dark despair, a gentle crook may hook and save you, ram ewe, fold you, take unto a forest-pond for safety there.
Listen. Tired words are words still; hopeless love is love still; broken hearts are hearts still; distant dreams are, perhaps, dreams still.
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