O! This song is dancing in my ears, its sound is that of reflection of laughter, of a time when all seems so safe and teeming with banter of now and now and now and now and now and now! (Impossible!) Why impossible? (Just is!) Says who? You? Well, how about you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and me and you and you and you and you and- (Stop! We get it, scribe! Do you?) Not yet, but as you can tell, I'm rather busy at the moment dancing with your doubt! (Our doubt? What of your own?) It's not doubt you feel kind spirits, it's the fears left in your dance tht have me stumbling. It is not mine own. The very fact that I am writing these words like a machine, and you are reading them, is courage enough to keep me humbled. (Oh. But we didn't know, scribe.) Sure you did. It's supposed to be this way, it's the reason for my journey. I get that, do you? (Silence...) You will understand, and everyth
(The Weaver's Song)