Rin Metis' Circular Gallifreyan translations.

Cold hearted orb that rules the night Removes the colors from our sight Red is grey and yellow white But we decide which is right.... And which is an illusion. Nights in White Satin by Moody Blues Translated into Circular Gallifreyan by Rin Metis. It's much bluer in person. The lights in here are just orangish. Support more of this on my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rinmetisart

Translated to Circular Gallifreyan by Arin Brooker

"The difference between the novice and the master is that the novice has tried less times than the master has failed" Commision, only copy Translated into Circular Gallifreyan by Arin Brooker

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Commision, only copy Translated into Circular Gallifreyan by Arin Brooker

“DON’T PANIC”

Fill with mingled cream and amber, I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chamber of my brain– Quaintest thoughts–queerest fancies Come to life and fade away; What care I how time advances? I am drinking ale today. Edgar Allan Poe, translated to Circular Gallifreyan by Arin Brooker

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Quatrain 11. Translated to Circular Gallifreyan by Rin Metis. Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough, A flask of wine, a book of verse- and thou beside me singing in the wilderness- and wilderness in paradise enow. Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Quatrain 11.

Nothing Gold Can Stay, written in Circular Gallifreyan. By Robert Frost, translated by Rin Metis. Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Be like the bird, written in Circular Gallifreyan By Victor Hugo translated by Rin Metis. Be like the bird, who Halting in his flight On limb too slight Feels it give way beneath him, Yet sings Knowing he hath wings.

Jean Wilder as Willy Wonka. Translated to Circular Gallifreyan by Rin Metis Round the world and home again That's the sailor's way Faster faster, faster faster There's no earthly way of knowing Which direction we are going There's no knowing where we're rowing Or which way the river's flowing Is it raining, is it snowing Is a hurricane a-blowing Not a speck of light is showing So the danger must be growing Are the fires of Hell a-glowing Is the grisly reaper mowing Yes, the danger must be growing For the rowers keep on rowing And they're certainly not showing Any signs that they are slowing

Eldorado, written in Circular Gallifreyan by Edgar Allen Poe translated by Arin Brooker. Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old- This knight so bold- And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow- "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be- This land of Eldorado?" "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied- "If you seek for Eldorado!"

Jabberwocky, done in Circular Gallifreyan. BY LEWIS CARROLL translated by Arin Brooker (Rin Metis) ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves        Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:  All mimsy were the borogoves,        And the mome raths outgrabe.  “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!        The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun        The frumious Bandersnatch!”  He took his vorpal sword in hand;        Long time the manxome foe he sought—  So rested he by the Tumtum tree        And stood awhile in thought.  And, as in uffish thought he stood,        The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,  Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,       And burbled as it came!  One, two! One, two! And through and through        The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!  He left it dead, and with its head        He went galumphing back.  “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?        Come to my arms, my beamish boy!  O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”        He chortled in his joy.  ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves        Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:  All mimsy were the borogoves,        And the mome raths outgrabe.