A pawn to Fyodor's runic play, A meaningless piece that is doomed to stay. Once your skill is no longer ripe, Fyodor says what comes next is a mere cesspipe. Like a toy that a child carelessly tosses, A resource cast aside without remorse. Carelessly thrown like a used rag. A meaningless pawn, that's forever a snag.

Though options beckon, you must not go, For Fyodor has planted his feet and won't let go. He speaks sweet lies that form a cocoon, Imprisoning you and keeping you on his moon.