The new boot was tight on his foot, making each step a reminder of the pains that change could bring. But every boot, eventually, wears, and must be mended or replaced, lest the want of a sole be the only thing between doldrums and delights.
Tight or not, it did a fine job of keeping the sand's heat from his feet, even though the days were getting shorter and less oppressive with the approaching harvest season. It was a time for moving, and move he did, having left but his old, replaced boot, a note, and a few blossoms as a token to the hosts whose grace had been quickly given, but which had worn like the boot's heel.
And so, he sang softly to himself, composing in his head, his lute still safely packed in its case.
"Walking through avenues of stately apartments
Quailing to think of how the settled life makes sense:
To splurge in the waterhole, after a long workday
Eating like paupers to hope for banqueting some day.
In fear of the bandits who wait in the alleys
And more of the taxmen, who kill with their tallies
So I'll be away, down the pathway
It's the only way for me
By the next moon, I may move on
While there's world still yet to see..."
If a little creature of fur and fluff followed him from a safe distance, he neither turned nor indicated any notice, and kept singing softly to himself, as if he could ward off his own thoughts, or perhaps at least dampen them, with lyrics. If others could hear, what of it? They would hear, or they would return to the buzz of the everyday panic that gnawed at their collective sanity.
"Welcome daybreak, my dear friend; I see it's you and I again,
Thoughts of entropy came creeping, interrupting my faint sleeping
And leaving upon me an indelible, fell design, burned in my mind
Leaving no room for silence
In fevered dreams I walk alone, taking note of every stone,
In the shadow of a tallow lamp, clasping cloak against the cold and damp
Stalked by the voices whose intent I cannot sense, or dispense
Leaving no room for silence.
And in a shrouded hall I heard, a thousand moans, but not one word.
Souls touching but not feeling, skewed perceptions and thoughts reeling
If I can only get far enough away, before I finally fail, to remain hale..
And find some room for silence."
Tight or not, it did a fine job of keeping the sand's heat from his feet, even though the days were getting shorter and less oppressive with the approaching harvest season. It was a time for moving, and move he did, having left but his old, replaced boot, a note, and a few blossoms as a token to the hosts whose grace had been quickly given, but which had worn like the boot's heel.
And so, he sang softly to himself, composing in his head, his lute still safely packed in its case.
"Walking through avenues of stately apartments
Quailing to think of how the settled life makes sense:
To splurge in the waterhole, after a long workday
Eating like paupers to hope for banqueting some day.
In fear of the bandits who wait in the alleys
And more of the taxmen, who kill with their tallies
So I'll be away, down the pathway
It's the only way for me
By the next moon, I may move on
While there's world still yet to see..."
If a little creature of fur and fluff followed him from a safe distance, he neither turned nor indicated any notice, and kept singing softly to himself, as if he could ward off his own thoughts, or perhaps at least dampen them, with lyrics. If others could hear, what of it? They would hear, or they would return to the buzz of the everyday panic that gnawed at their collective sanity.
"Welcome daybreak, my dear friend; I see it's you and I again,
Thoughts of entropy came creeping, interrupting my faint sleeping
And leaving upon me an indelible, fell design, burned in my mind
Leaving no room for silence
In fevered dreams I walk alone, taking note of every stone,
In the shadow of a tallow lamp, clasping cloak against the cold and damp
Stalked by the voices whose intent I cannot sense, or dispense
Leaving no room for silence.
And in a shrouded hall I heard, a thousand moans, but not one word.
Souls touching but not feeling, skewed perceptions and thoughts reeling
If I can only get far enough away, before I finally fail, to remain hale..
And find some room for silence."
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."
![[Image: 3610850.jpg]](http://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/1266293/pics/original/3610850.jpg)
