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“Avallac’h said nothing for a moment. ‘Share?’ he finally drawled. ‘With you? Knowledge, my dear, is a privilege, and privileges are only shared with one’s equals. And why would I, an elf, a Sage, a member of the elite, share anything with a descendant of a creature that appeared in the universe barely five million years ago, having evolved from an ape, a rat, a jackal or some other such mammal? A creature that took around a million years to discover that one can execute some sort of operation with a gnawed bone using its two hairy hands? After which it shoved the bone up its rectum and shrieked for joy?” ― Andrzej Sapkowski, The Tower of Swallows The Art of Foretelling Verse 1: Anyone can speak of days to come, Whisper dreams beneath the sun. But shadows stretch and futures shift, Truth is more than words adrift. To see ahead is no great feat, But to see clear is rare and sweet. Chorus: It's not the words, it’s not the claim, It’s knowing how to play the game. The future’s just a fleeting thread, But to grasp it right is where you're led. The art is not in seeing far, It’s in knowing just who you are. Verse 2: All foretell what lies in store, Painting paths we’ve walked before. But when the winds begin to turn, Few can feel the lessons burn. Foreseeing’s easy, wide and free, But truth is born from mystery. Chorus: It's not the words, it’s not the claim, It’s knowing how to play the game. The future’s just a fleeting thread, But to grasp it right is where you're led. The art is not in seeing far, It’s in knowing just who you are. Bridge: So wipe your hands, cast off the weight, Of empty words that speak too late. For in the silence, clear and true, The future waits for only few. Chorus (Final): It's not the words, it’s not the claim, It’s knowing how to play the game. The future’s just a fleeting thread, But to grasp it right is where you're led. The art is not in seeing far, It’s in knowing just who you are.
