Red is the river's source, my dear Fish.
You claim to be so mightily of noble tides,
yet I know truly in your depths it is but a vain wish.
For there is nothing but mud and blood caked on your sides.
Woven in the midst of silver scales and blue,
the rush of white stretches forth to further anchor you,
dragging you from the waters to the dirt my dear.
The Nothing has taken to the river in which you it would appear,
ushering from you a single shutter as it shakes your core.
For only then, has it stolen your previous ore.
The golden gleam of the treasure so sacredly you would guard,
so easily foiled by something of the Gods' divine creation.
As simple - look here- as a single flip of a card.
Foolishly mingling within one endless fool's damnation.
Twirling and swirling, there's great magical tricks,
a fool I must be, but don't you dare blame me for all of this.
"Magic Man", by the tongues of lost few I am called,
tearing into my very soul, for there's a crowd I must awe.
Some animals, peoples, or some strange entities alike,
no matter my play, I am never faulty for one Gods' spite.
I'd perhaps wish to be free from your bloody jurisdiction,
only here with you I am left, left with an obscure addiction
to your relentless sense of malice, scorn, and an endless pain
that appears to only be ushered in a vain woman's name.
No, my dear silver fish, we are both here for some reason.
It matters not if there is little within these moments to gain.
Careless of the ceaseless change of seasons, restless in time,
as it passes we all learn from our unspoken and thought crimes.
You see, for the Nothing will never cease The Death's bidding,
nor its power matched as it bends to no other soul.
As the nights pass, I feel some part of us winning,
working together and forming allegiance through many lives,
never quitting, fighting, and holding some focus to a goal
to alter the tides, and what have anchored us to this place,
ceaselessly spinning, caught in the rapids current.
Red is the River's Source, my dear fish, in all regards,
and be I something much stronger than you, teeth and claws,
to you I am a prisoner, and I will never be a guard.
The Nothing will bow you so low, gracelessly you're in his maw,
silver staining crimson like rivers flow, you'll find him grinning.
The last sight you'll see, as I'm set free, yet hunted again,
tell me my dear Fish, will you willing pay for twice the sin?