Oh, Pandora, Wayward Heir of boundless will,
Who schemed a secret weapon upon a quiet hill!

Your letter promised doom, a spectacle of blight,
Now I offer a mournful ballad sung in endless, failing light.

You call your weapon PIECE, a terrible machine,
The greenest, loudest end that has ever been!

We shall offer the tribute you desire,
For simple, woolly truths inspire this poet's fire.

The Great Calamity of Sleep

The Alchemists, they seek the death you hold so dear,
They plot the plant's extinction, to inspire fear.

They measure every failure, every final, drooping head,
And wish the world would simply go to bed.

They seek and search for doom to bring forth a mighty sleep,
They fall to slumber, counted by the little sheep.

They swore this weapon, a fearful might,
But all it brought was an endless, boring night.

The Weapon's Woolly Undoing

Deep within the walls where shadows fall and creep,
The only real chaos is the flock of silly sheep.

They are a threat the Alchemists cannot define,
More unpredictable than humors, more divine.

The scholars focus started to decrease,
Drawn by the sight of that white, comforting, rebellious fleece.

The Agent of Oblivion

Now, Master Alchemist, weary from the fume,
Awoke from scientific, catastrophic gloom.

We cry that the end of life is stagnancy!
This end of life is not true liberty!

I shall reject the outcome that you hold so high,
And give this PIECE a sweet reply!

I bring with ink and scornful, mocking grace,
The ultimate, soft challenge to your doom and mocking to your face.

This fluffy comfort is the one thing you must fear,
It shatters all the sorrow that you wish to hear!

So sweet Pandora grant the world release,
For you bring doom and perfect PIECE!

A Farewell

So, Pandora, Wayward Heir, though you find pleasure deep
In seeing civilizations drift toward eternal sleep,

Your mournful ballad I now release!,
Dont get fleeced by project PIECE!


Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Miraman, in the year 987 AF.