I liked real life, but then it became way too pay to win, the cash shop made it too expensive, and the lack of PvP made it boring.


Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness.
Wretched is he who looks back upon lone hours in vast and dismal chambers with brown hangings and maddening rows of antique books,
or upon awed watches in twilight groves of grotesque, gigantic, and vine-encumbered trees that silently wave twisted branches far aloft.
Such a lot the gods gave to me - to me, the dazed, the disappointed; the barren, the broken.
And yet I am strangely content and cling desperately to those sere memories,
when my mind momentarily threatens to reach beyond to the other

I can see those trees moving,
yearning for one last bird's song
I can feel their restless spirits,
longing for the times that will never come

I can hear their hum of sadness,
crying out of loss and grief
I can taste their bitter blossom,
poisoned by my own deceit

I am those trees and I am the end of us,
I am the bitterness that flows inside

I cannot see the yearning of it all,
for my eyes have been stolen from me
I cannot hear the grieving cry of it all,
for I was deaf all my eternity.