I, a tended Leo, evoke you for this end-tale ode:
Adventurers of the spirit, eat old Eden's fruit and hear
el dead tone, for it has sounded betwixt your embodied
bones since first breath and will continue to crescendo
until triple(tympanum)forte bursts through your weak,
fatty encasings.
And out will bubble your bloody deeds, aborted dreams,
fragile-hearted fears and soporific tears; you will bathe
in your bad boiled eggs and their hatched monstrosities
will surround you and (at last) you will see them (finally)
you will feel them, hollowed, you will hear their horrid
hiss bellowed cry- el dead tone!
But rejoice, for there exists no late deed, and now,
having seen, felt, and heard this our song you are reborn,
brought back to the oh so vital moment so that you might
act anew and fill yourselves not with flimsy notes or
half-drawn lines, but with life-increasing winds and waters
that encompass the earth and deoxidize dull minds,
so that when the needle blackens the bulbs that are your eyes,
you will shout triumphantly, "Done!"
elated.
