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.

Sounds like a command to assault. Most of the world calls it something else Tho you learn different in the U.S., not your fault If get it wrong, you'll kick yourself. Just don't use your hands, or it'll all come to a halt.

A silent traveler leaves its mark, invisible in the dark. In sand, snow, and time, it traces a path, fading with tide's gentle wrath.