How blessed I would be,
If only I could partake in the carefree connection,
Which my brothers profess as first-rate,
That fits me into that,
Fundamentally foreign machinations,
With no teeth for this Gear.
Yet I am consumed by a longing hunger,
Crying out for just a taste of this,
Only to sink my teeth into the utterly foreign,
Time and time and time and time
Again.
But mana reigns from the heavens,
As little flakes of hope encapsulated,
Mass distributed solace in a whisper:
“At least tomorrow will be more of the same.”