[i]There once was a soul, a ghoul, a fool,
There once was a fool who sold his soul,
He sold his soul for food and wool.
The ghoul who sold its life, it's rife
The ghoul who sold its life is rife
With strife with wife and bard and fife.
"Oi, what's this?" you say, you neigh?
"Oi, what's this?" you say, but nay,
I say you say your say and may.
"This ghoul and wife, wool and fife,
This soul that's rife with bard and strife,
Apply'st you nonsense to my life?"
Nay, my friend, a thread, a thread,
Is wed betwixt your words and head!
Why did the ghoul go sell his soul?
Bereft by theft, he's left with null,
His life is cleft by cold, hence wool.
Penniless, jobless, useless, young,
His wife was merciless, wagged her tongue,
So bards retell't with fife, and sung.

See, though devils make heroes' glory
Humans are devils enough for our story.
[/i]

And so Solorfainiel put down her pen.