Post by coddle the infectionxxx on Jan 15, 2006 23:03:19 GMT -5
An inky black tom padded along the forest. His white eyes were calm, unaffected by the passing winds. His long fur was slightly puffed against the cold winds, brought by leafbare. His heart was just as cold as the winds the whipped at the forest from the far north. His eyes were a pale blue, that in the dark they seemed almost white. His powerful muscles rippled as he ambled on.
No one mourns the wicked,
No one cries, they won’t return,
No one lays a lily on their grave,
The good man scorns the wicked….
Goodness knows the wicked lives are lonely,
Goodness knows the wicked die alone,
Its just shows when you’re wicked,
You’re left only on your own,
The wicked’s lives are lonely,
The wicked die alone,
Nothing grows for the wicked…[/i]
He glanced up at the sky, giving it a scathign deaht glance. His eyes returned to earth, and he looked around. He wasn't doing anyhting in particular, but the coppery taste of boredom lingered in his mouth. No one would care if he killed himslef, he htough, amused. Of course, to irk the world, he was alive and healthy. His mind was a place colder than any leafbare this trap of a forest had ever felt. Nothing showed on his refined features, and his powerful body held still. He wasn't hunting or hungry, and that was just as well because all the prey was away. He looked up at the sky again. Hate filled his glance, and his fur almost trembled wiht fury. Some said his past had been so dark that his pelt had turned the purest of silk like balck. He ignored these jabs at his pride, bristiling back at the offending cats. He crouched, and licked a paw thorughtfully.
No one mourns the wicked,
No one cries, they won’t return,
No one lays a lily on their grave,
The good man scorns the wicked….
Goodness knows the wicked lives are lonely,
Goodness knows the wicked die alone,
Its just shows when you’re wicked,
You’re left only on your own,
The wicked’s lives are lonely,
The wicked die alone,
Nothing grows for the wicked…[/i]
He glanced up at the sky, giving it a scathign deaht glance. His eyes returned to earth, and he looked around. He wasn't doing anyhting in particular, but the coppery taste of boredom lingered in his mouth. No one would care if he killed himslef, he htough, amused. Of course, to irk the world, he was alive and healthy. His mind was a place colder than any leafbare this trap of a forest had ever felt. Nothing showed on his refined features, and his powerful body held still. He wasn't hunting or hungry, and that was just as well because all the prey was away. He looked up at the sky again. Hate filled his glance, and his fur almost trembled wiht fury. Some said his past had been so dark that his pelt had turned the purest of silk like balck. He ignored these jabs at his pride, bristiling back at the offending cats. He crouched, and licked a paw thorughtfully.
