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[Katydid50]

THE COLD WITHIN
Six humans trapped in happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within.

Yeah, that among other things. Like, for most joint shops, I don't get past the first page. If there's more than one artist in the shop it seems so... jam-packed. You know? Like, once, I came across a shop that had so many artists, they were putting all the artist's information two per post.

[Hakui-Kitsune]

Oh yeah, that does sound too much for the eyes and brain. sweatdrop I've never seen more than... 4? 5? I think something like that. sweatdrop

[Katydid50]

THE COLD WITHIN
Six humans trapped in happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within.

I've come across at least one -possibly two- that had about ten artists.It was ridiculous.

[Hakui-Kitsune]

That does sound ridiculous. O.O;; How on earth did they have order in their shop?

[Katydid50]

THE COLD WITHIN
Six humans trapped in happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within.

God only knows.

[Hakui-Kitsune]

God has a big job ahead of him then. XD

[Katydid50]

THE COLD WITHIN
Six humans trapped in happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within.

You got that right.

[Kira Gincosu]

Um Hi my name is Kira Yagami and i recently met a friend who purchased one of your guy's avi drawings and i was wondering if i could get one myself

[Katydid50]

THE COLD WITHIN
Six humans trapped in happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within.

@Kira: The shop's closed, in case you hadn't noticed.
@Hakui: You really should change the shop title. You're not so much full as closed.

[Hakui-Kitsune]

@Katy: Thank you. I'll do just that. 3nodding

[Katydid50]

THE COLD WITHIN
Six humans trapped in happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within.

cat_ninja

[Psychotic Moo]

Hakui-Kitsune

Hello :3
You did an art for me awhile back
I'm looking for artists again
So I looked you up since I have a list saved on my computer
Of my favorite past artists
If you are willing to do any art
Or are accepting requests
Please let me know
heart

[Katydid50]

THE COLD WITHIN
Six humans trapped in happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within.

I don't get why people can't just read the title. I mean, honestly, is it hard to comprehend or something?

[Hakui-Kitsune]

@Moo: Glad to see you're back, it's always nice to have returning customers. 3nodding The thing is, my shop is closed down and I'm not accepting art requests right now. I'm thinking of opening a new shop, but that's still very much in the works. sweatdrop The most I can offer is a post in the near future, hopefully, where I will link to my new shop thread and you can go there to order art from me. Hope that suffices!

@Katy: People don't necessarily read things when they're just trying to recognize something familiar. In some cases, that makes it quite unfortunate... But, oh well. *Shrugs*

[Katydid50]

THE COLD WITHIN
Six humans trapped in happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within.

I suppose but it's still hard to miss when it's in the title.