Three heads. One body.

Frozen underground. Beneath Cocytus

Each speak. One and two in unison.

The third is years too late.

Words uttered by the first two heads

spill uselessly out of the third.

The apologies given by the first fall on Nobody's ears.

Nobody is standing there. The Oracle told her that

reasoning with It will be fruitless.

All ventured, nothing gained.

The three heads are rooted there. And there they will stay.

𓄿𓄿𓄿𓄿

𓄿𓄿𓄿

𓄿𓄿𓄿𓄿𓄿𓄿𓄿

Time doesn't heal all wounds.

They scar over instead. Time changes wounds

so that they hurt a little less.

The girl in the schoolhouse transcribed a melody.

But just like herself, the melody had changed.

Sing with me.

One for sorrow,

Two for luck (or was it mirth?)

Three for a wedding,

Four for death (and soon rebirth)

Five for silver,

Six for gold;

Seven for a secret never to be told,

Eight for heaven,

Nine for death,

And ten for the devil's own sell.

Thank you for singing with me.

Isn't it such a wonderful day?