Note: I wrote this for fk. I call this one "When the river runs dry". Can be a little confusing, but if you think and concentrate hard enough, it's quite logical and simple.

Tell me what happens when the river runs dry
If I am too blind to see
That the birds have stopped singing
And the prisoners have all run free.

When the prisoners have all run free
And that a wizard has lost his magic.
That a bard has forgotten how to sing
And a priest afraid to pray.

Show me what happens when the river runs dry
If I am too blind to see
That the grass is no longer green
And the water is no longer sparkling clearly.

When the water is no longer clear
And that blood is no longer crimson.
That the sun is no longer flaming red
And life is no longer colourful.

This was what happened when the river ran dry
And I was too blind to see
That the one I loved felt the same
And it was true that he loved me.

When it was true that he loved me
And that I did not know
Until he fell at the hands of time
And had no choice but to go.

The river ran dry a long time ago,
And never again will it flow.

Note: This was composed for fk. I call it "A Dirty Story". Quite lame, but oh well.

A streak of soot smudged a young girl’s face
While dirt lived under her long, unkempt nails.
Take not this story literally too soon
And try to follow its bloody trails.

Unwashed hands handled her meals
For a good ten years spent in a city’s dark sewer
Feeding on unclean, unnamed creatures
This little girl had a life like no other.

It matters not what family she had
Nor why she came out one day
For her eyes were blinded by the ugly sights
And her blindness could not lead the way.

She fumbled through the streets on her bare feet
Her life leaked away, staining the floor
No one turned back to look at the girl
No one was willing to answer the door

Shivering from the cold with a thin cloak on
She then lived alone in city’s dark alley.
Her first chance at love was forcefully taken away
It was debatable if she was treated unfairly.

She did not understand what she had lost
Or why her bleeding did not stop
Or why her clothes were in disarray
Whatever she thought, it was not a lot.

Cry for her, this poor poor girl.
Make her scream, make her straight hair curl.
Deceive her, make use of all she has.
Corrupt her, that innocent little lass.

So ends the tale of dirtiness
Of soot, dirt and stained streets,
And of hearts tainted by black ink.