Knowledge before the Late Madness
There is a place beyond yonder,
Nestled deeply within the woods.
A little white building with little white rooms,
Though the smiles are full of gloom.
This is a place where people who are stolen come,
To be played in a cruel game called Life with unheard pleas
Though it isn't heard to feel much of strife
To prepare to join the place that I call the garden where he resides
Every night another one leaves,
Passing my window and descending into the garden
Where they may or may not play with the Ring Warden
Tomorrow he might come,
To give me wings to fly
Or hooves to walk
But until then I will wait,
Wait to join where the Cicadas Cry.