It was a tradition long ago, when the world was dark and full of woe. When men turned darkness into light, by mixing, melting and decanting in the night. To seek for youth and gold and riches, just to be burned as witches. What is it?
It speaks to you, yet it can't speak. When you hold it you can travel, in your mind's eye worlds unravel and everything in it's a lie. Yet with every new untruth, still you feel it speaks the truth. What is it?
It passes but you never hear it. Sometimes though, you think you feel it. You think you had it but it's gone. You want to stop it, but it moves on. You lose it, gain it, maybe fear it, but it goes on, forever on. What is it?