"and mother... Why tell me the story of a tiger, the one black on golden stripe, that chewed its own arms and legs in silent rage at night?

Also, what about the dragon, who ate apples and fire, lived inside impractical caves tucking in wings of lost desire? waiting, day after day, breath held back for fear unseen. Will the knight meant to free his soul be fearless and keen?

The spear flung and true, caught its jaded breast; in the end my dragon was a forgotten winter mist... So I ask oh mother, why sing such a song? The tiger of those years lives undefeated, strong. Why fear the dragon too? They both are poised ready

I hide my eyes struggle on my knees bare needy bathed in lies, neck exposed veins pulsing heat, I know my tiger waits in hunger, that dragon gnashing emerald teeth ...you shrink away in pain, mother so have I too, and in vain. Me, myself and I, were not to be a tale with happy end..'1