Chapter Text
Little fangs and little brains
my fortunes shall oblige
Gaping prides and swollen maws
my temperance shall strive
Many years my soul has sweat
by grinding at the mill
But nary hath my portion set,
receive my promised fill.
Thirteen years of age I was
my charted course began
Twenty years of age was I,
my patience outran
Two years of wilderness I walked
before my mind was clear
And two were days I rested well,
until the mill was here.
My food is tough, my dreams disturbed,
no pleasures have I sought
My hallowed friends have shut the door -
oh, what the mill has wrought!
So children, heed a withered man
who withered men ignored,
When miller's son requests your name,
just quickly slam the door.