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Petit poème.
Upon wings of gold,
Upon air so cold,
I graciously flew
Through the sky so blue.
To foxes I spoke,
Great machines I woke,
Ancient runes I read,
From great predators I fled.
A story unearthed,
In languages lost and cursed,
And yet my adventures have just begun,
Studying the secrets of Rætikon.
Hobbes
Upon air so cold,
I graciously flew
Through the sky so blue.
To foxes I spoke,
Great machines I woke,
Ancient runes I read,
From great predators I fled.
A story unearthed,
In languages lost and cursed,
And yet my adventures have just begun,
Studying the secrets of Rætikon.
Hobbes
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