"Yet each man kills the thing he loves... the brave man with a sword!" This is indeed a consolation, my dear Ulysses, thy sweet Penelope stills yells to the awe and the water hidden beneath the recesses of a desolate beach. As the waves disclose an ominous fog of death and despair, I still sing an everlasting song of pain for your loss. Actually, such was never effected, however I do miss you as if we had endured a long battle of Troy and a fool love, I have yet to touch your face, nevertheless you have refused me as a bitter poison, something that would keep you out of your sorts and wits. Forgive me I pray thee, do not know why should I, but I do pray for thy pardon for thy pity even though I am the one who is supposed to be asked for amnesty. Art thou going to read these crooked words? Written in the sahpe of a dream? Or the left overs of an utopian dream? How would I dare to have thy eyes laid on me again (or for the first time). What would I not venture to lose just to have "The Pleasure that abeith for a Moment", I would indded risk to transform "The Sorrow that endureth for Ever" into this single token of thou affection. Do not be s nasty, my dear warrior: disclose thy power to each single dark place of Earth and take me in your arms. Let me sing for thy sleep, softly caress thy lips, fall asleep in the shadow of a cloud, wake up on the dark side of the moon. Survive, drive, jive... more than anything... Let me love thee, I pray thee... Please, do not refuse me.