Fisherman's Friend

Look at you, a portrait of misery, an epitaph of incongruence. Diminished follicles, decrepit eyes, disenchanted countenance, deliver to the world no more your furtive swagger betwixt the boundaries of crimson and tangerine, for that wild fire hesitates nought before boiling your passion over. Do you perhaps yearn for a final hurl of your broken mace today? Alas, the day you capitulated, courage has since turned her face away. Rig up your sails, throw in the oars, traverse between the islands of your eternal silent vocation; your sole beacon the flickering Will to lamentation. Unendingly thus! Even the fishes can know their peace. Only that they saunter the deep blue seas, while you wallow in a forgotten abyss.

But islander, I offer my company should ever you require. Worry not, we have our souls to offer for Zoroaster's bonfire.