To Brightsoul came, the old great fae, decider of the Mizzen. Sat upon his His yellow throne of Gold and Green and yellow-red Jubilant in it's display. "I saw you come, the great work's done." Yet in the mists he lies. "I don't know He had not shown." Great work's another lie. "Yet those who walk the Mizzenpath Sing gleefully in his reprise" Another thing, another thing, a sad and weary demise. "The forest path sings wantonly yet we sing nought, squat and nowt." Rot and ruin comes carefully to those who don't come out. "O Mizzenpath, O Mizzenpath, where hast thou yet stricken?" The trees hang down bent below and yet we sing here wizzen. "Great saviour of Fae, where hast thou been? 'tis not to rot and ruin thou hast commit thee?" "Alas, alas, we mourn you so, cast off, cast out, stricken from thine sweet home." "To thee I bid well, Alas I cannot be with thee. A mournful song and wandering words. Cast out and tears fall with me" "Mizzenpath, Mizzenpath, sing thee to thy safety." "Sing sweet words, and calm him so; Make sure he doesn't make me." Alas it was not so, and yet it was decided lately That wandering words did not show, and came quietly as a baby. Another thing, another tat, Wandering words snake calmly along the Mizzenpath. A fate decided, another thing, once more in it's reprise. Blazing, flaming, roiling, broiling, a flame yet not seen. A passion ignited, another chance. Phoenix be with thee. Brightsoul had, that none were there, and jubilant in it's display, A roiling, toiling, broiling, boiling, a Mizzenpath hooray. He had come and went so far, that we had not yet seen. To worlds beyond, and near and far, and all that inbetween. Jubilant was the Brightsoul name. "Alas", it was said, "I wish it thee came sooner." "Of course, apologies, delayed in my great Name, was this feeling of utter sorrow" "Do not fret, for we have this and that and also overmorrow." "Mizzenpath, Mizzenpath, Mizzenpath, I thank thee so." "Great work shall finally be done, and with it, mine foes." Thank you. Thank you.