While the lyrics the AI printed are fragmentary and jumbled, the image is pretty; silly machines.
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Wednesday, July 26, 2023
(C) 2004, 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved
A poem about Lthrus X'a
All in the moulden gloom
Full stealthily we glide;
For all our oars, with practised skill
By armoured arms are plied,
While silent hands do speak long sentence
Of our incursion thus to guide.
Ah, sweet Three! In such an hour,
Beneath the silvery moons,
To beg command of breath to still
My agents of ready doom.
Yet what can one commander do
Against three weaving looms?
Insidious Alvia rushes forth
Her gesture, "Let's begin it!"
In subtler signs Vekundra notes
"There'll be bloodshed in it!"
Wise Terizha adds naught to tell
But dashes forth to win it.
Anon, to sudden screaming won,
In frenzy they pursue
The traitor-kin moving through a land
Of dangers odd and new,
In friendly chat with brute and thief--
And dark-sired ties renewed.
And ever, as the veins drained
The wells of living dry,
And faintly strove the wounded ones
To pull their broken bodies by,
'To rest for a while, to regain my breath...'
The dying voices cry.
Thus the tales of sanguine deeds did run
Thus slowly, drop by drop,
Many throbbing brains were hammered out--
And now those lives are done,
And home we row, a merry band,
Before the rising sun.
Lthrus... A waking dream did take,
And with strangler's hand,
Pried it from where Childhood's fears were mired
In Memory's shifting sand.
Like the villans' withered sheathes in pallor
Cured in that arid land.
A boat beneath the fading sky,
Meandering onward dreamily
In an evening fleet and spry--
Killers three nestled near
Lifeless eye; unhearing ear
Upon a current bourn here--
Long has dawned the fiery sky
Glories fade and flesh does fry
Thus three killers in a boat arrived
Still she haunts me, shadow-wise,
Lthrus stalking under skies
Never seen by sane men's eyes.
A killer yet, her tale to bear,
With anxious eye and priq'd-up ear
Watchingly I shall settle near.
In wonderment -- the fourth -- I die,
Dying as the moons fly by,
Dying as my lovers' cry:
Ever drifting down in scream--
Lingering in the silver gleam--
My life, what was it but a dream?