I am the Dealer, the Master, the Maker.
I scatter you like playing cards,
Or the black canvas’s gold-white stars.
The rose may wilt, the rain may fall,
The silence may be broken by the black bird’s call.
Whether you keep me, or eventually lose Me
Is all up to Me and only Me.
Your eyes are the clouds, your tears are the rain.
I am the reliable source of your pain.
Your skin is the paper, your blood Is the ink.
The knife is the pen, now let Me think.
