Men Are Men, Vows Are Words, And

The Gods Made The Earth For All Men T' Share. Only When The Kings Come With Their Crowns And Steel Swords, They Claimed It Was All Theirs. "my Trees," They Said, "you Can't Eat Them Apples. My Stream, You Can't Fish Here. My Wood, You're Not T' Hunt. My Earth, My Water, My Castle, My Daughter, Keep Your Hands Away Or I'll Chop 'em Off, But Maybe If You Kneel T' Me I'll Let You Have A Sniff." You Call Us Thieves, But At Least A Thief Has T' Be Brave And Clever And Quick. A Kneeler Only Has T' Kneel.

Fantasy Is Silver And Scarlet, Indigo And Azure, Obsidian Veined With Gold And Lapis Lazuli. Reality Is Plywood And Plastic, Done Up In Mud Brown And Olive Drab. Fantasy Tastes Of Habaneros And Honey, Cinnamon And Cloves, Rare Red Meat And Wines As Sweet As Summer. Reality Is Beans And Tofu, And Ashes At The End.

Why Do The Gods Make Kings And Queens If Not To Protect The Ones Who Can't Protect Themselves?

No Mortal Man Could Frighten Him, No More Than The Darkness Could, Nor The Bones Of His Soul, The Grey And Grisly Bones Of His Soul.

The Best Calumnies Are Spiced With Truth.