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A Requiem to the Fairground
Tainted, painted Uni's wings,
broken rides and rusted swings,
a sadness that the Bagatelle brings,
the old abandoned Fairground.
Gather ye and spin the wheel,
ground littered with banana peels,
the clowns are here, but are they real?
The old abandoned Fairground.
Test Your Strength, or dare you try?
Lose Neopoints at Coconut Shy,
moon hovering forever in the crimson sky,
the old abandoned Fairground.
I've warned thee of their evil plight,
so leave at once; Korbats take flight,
there's a haunting going on tonight
At the old abandoned Fairground.
The Search of the Grey Faerie
The mountain stood cold, snow dusting its peak,
A cage tethered to it, its captive in fetters,
A small sad lass, hungry and weak,
No longer believed that things would get better.
She avoided their stares through the iron guard
As her captors made their way near,
Their hearts must have frozen,
Their souls turned hard,
For they delighted in this creature's fear.
But out in the snow, a young Kyrii saw
The treatment this lass received.
He immediately thought how he could withdraw
The faerie, who seemed quite aggrieved.
The Kyrii was wise, and with a bit of good luck,
The faerie was soon flying free--
A figure of speech, as she was still stuck,
For her wings were no more than debris.
The wings had been clipped
And no longer could lift
The little faerie off the ground,
The faerie would never again have this gift
Unless a suitable name was found.
The two traveled Neopia, searched high and low
For a name that suited her style,
She hotly refused every name she was shown,
(You may have guessed
They were at this a while).
Finally, one day, she'd all but given in,
When her Kyrii friend presented a name,
It was like crystal, or bells, or a violin,
And so then the Grey Faerie became--
Well, I can't pronounce it, or write it,
Or even recall--
But the point of the tale is the same:
If your wings have been clipped,
And you fear you may fall,
Just wait 'till a friend calls your name.
Lord Darigan's Sweeper
Deep within the darkest depths
Of the Floating Citadel,
Lies the chamber of a Lord,
Does Darigan ring a bell?
Everyone knows how occupied
Korbats with schemes can be,
So his big room is swept and cleaned
By a servant for no fee.
This minion has no name,
And none have heard of him,
Except the Lord and Galgarroth,
He cleans where they have been.
With narrow sneaky eyes
And a coat of purple fur,
This Usul servant prides himself
On a spick and span chamber.
Dusting with a broom,
Wiping with a cloth,
Mopping with an ebony mop,
He gleefully cleans the floor.
Do not feel pity for
A slave, content, like him,
'Cause Darigan is whom he chose
To bear his cleaning whims.
In the light of the moon,
A soft voice sings:
The song of Nereid.
She remains hidden
To every eye that sees.
The shore from Mystery Island
Is where this shy faerie lives.
To those who have seen
The sight with two eyes
Singing her song,
To hear it again.
The longing to hear
The sweet voice again
Draws them back.
With the shore of night,
When the moon glows bright,
You'll see her
At the shore.
Surrounded by water,
The goddess of the night,
Who glistens in the moonlight:
Jhudora Walks Again
In the midnight shadows
Of a night so cold,
A stranger waits,
So daring, so bold.
Her billowing hair
Falls from her face,
And her eyes tell of lies
And utmost disgrace.
For she knows of the secrets
Held deep within,
And shaking her head,
She bows with a grin.
Her goal was success,
And she conquered the best.
The heroes were now lost
With the insignificant rest.
With a twist of her heel,
She leaves with such art,
Forgetting to take
Her cold wicked heart.
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