from the bard's secret diary

I have tales to tell. Fantastic tales. Astounding tales. Tales to knock your bloody socks off. They toss and turn restlessly in the poorly lit recesses of my dreams, but refuse to spill out of my hands. Something tells me they eventually will.

I have songs to sing. Radiant white songs of life. Grim dark songs of death. And songs that play hide and seek amidst the gray shadowlands in between. But I keep forgetting the tunes. Something tells me it will all come back to me.