• A lone poet, a dying bard

    Spreads his stories near and far

    To kids he sings the tales of old

    And of darkness and death the others are told

    But mainly he tells of a tragic poet

    (Of himself he talks, everyone knows it)

    Who writes about the fires of hell

    Of the moon and stars, of immortal elves

    Who lives in his mind, in one big fantasy

    Where dwell the creatures he creates, you see?

    The shadows and witches, the sirens and elves

    That enchant you with their magical selves

    And draw you in, forever to stay

    Bewitched by the words that we know he'll say

    But then his poems turn to tragedy

    He talks of darkness, a hell without glee

    Where dwell the wicked that fight themselves

    (it's far flung from those enchanting elves...)

    Where wars rage forevermore

    And gods smite those that cause the gore

    And when one day, this poet dies

    Out of his head these things will fly

    And roam our world, spreading evil and fear

    So says our poet, whose death is near.