Marcus sat down and recited the poem of Lord Loss in his head again.
lord loss sows all the sorrows of the world,
lord loss seeds the grief starched trees,
in the centre of the web
lowly lord loss bows his head,
mangled hands, naked eyes,
fanged snakes soul line
curled inside like texture sin,
bloody curdle sheets for skin,
in the centre of the web vile lord loss torments the dead
over strands of red, lord loss crawls dispensing pain,
despising all,shuns his friends,
nurtures foes, ravendes hope,
breeds woe, drinks moons,
devoures suns,
twirls his thumbs till the reaper comes,
in the centre of the web Lush Lord Loss is all that is left.