so for your arroganceand your ruthlessness

I who could have walked with the live soulsabove the earth,

before I am lost,hell must open like a red rosefor the dead to pass.

my hell is no worse than yoursthough you pass among the flowers and speakwith the spirits above earth.

At least I have the flowers of myself,and my thoughts, no god

it is a boring song but it works every time.

Shall I tell you the secret and if I do, will you get me out of this bird suit?

the song that is irresistible:

A spark of kindness made a light.

Everyone worked together to make a ladder.

Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another

for a time I was poet     of the Heoden people, dear to my lord.

For years I enjoyed     my duties as minstrel and that lord’s favor,     but now the freehold and land titles     he bestowed upon me once he has vested in Heorrenda,     master of verse-craft. That passed over,     this can too.

Sorrow and longing     walked beside him, wintered in him

boy falling out of the sky, Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,

Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoria jotted along the borders of the Gospels brief

imagine what the person must look like