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Enters the room All eyes on he, as hungry as a killer bee The room quiet, he not able to bear Numb, but the music starts Dancing, swaying, spin, frolic, around all par However wobbly a mishap Chatter and laughter Ate away his soul Unable to bear, he fell A hard fall he had As he lay there, Remembered dear Mumzy's words: "Torment helps recover the weak"

This year, I’ll succeed this year, you told yourself first thing in the morning. As you slid your foot into the slippers that lay on the wooden floor beside the bed, you eyed the large, neatly wrapped box sitting on you chair warily. I’ll definitely get him to accept it this year. “Goooood morning, Corporal Rivaille!” You cried excitedly with your arms wrapped around the present that towered exactly eight centimeters above you. “Guess what day it is today!” “Another day for work.” Your dark-haired superior grunted and did nothing more but give the colorfully wrapped box a side glance. “