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Nay says we, the parsimonious lot! For charity is a recondite thought!
And the Lord spake unto Arkm, "Go down to Neocities, down into the Land of Signalsolonset and take(it). Their men shall heap jewels upon thee, their women shall kneel as servants before thee, their cattle shall present their buttocks before thee and thine generations foreverafter." And all these things came to pass.
Yet young Arkm was mistaken. Lords oft speaketh in tongues of old: “lies”, or so we are told. Thusly, Arkm was accoyed by the words of a promised land described by the blind; for this lofty Lord was bereft of eyne. “But how”, one may ask. “Not so fast! Didst Arkm’s glittering future not come to pass?” Hence thy dour tone, kith and kin, for Lords are oft immane. And doubly so for Lords of dreams.
Poor, ailing Arkm was caught with shackles wrought of thought. For the Arkm’s capture was what the Lord sought! Poor Arkm, his prison is that of the satin-silk of dreams, of sleep! And, forever, does his family weep: “O’ Arkm, can’t you wake? Won’t you, from this deathly slumber, break?”