In shadows woven by arcane thread, where treasures nestle, secrets are fed. A vessel of fortune, by witches' hand, carries dreams to a far-off land.

The fourth element I’m in blood, milk, space And television magic.

Masters of the sweet dance, clad in yellow-black robes, they craft golden nectar while humming a symphony of the sunlit meadows.

This is sure to depress, after week-long streaks of success, you lost the...

Some people like to call me an axe. But I’m used to grind not chop.