A young lad,
born to poor times.
Restless soul, belonging to the times of old.
Dream of the past lives, walk through the woods.
Look for the equivelant of your ancestral might.
Think of the heros who carried steel swords,
And the warriors who all still stand lost.
The legends of those who came before you, will repeat just like a telling of the truth
He is lost and forgets,
The people hes met,
He lives through the life of the spirit of forests,
A tribe he has not,
Alone in this world,
Songs he has sung,
All to hail ancestors,
He dreams of a place,
Where free men have days,
To tell forth their tale
To have it shrouded in the haze
Forth comes a thought of the future unbright, whats there left to find and whats there out to fight,
Jungles of bloodoaks and breezes of warmth the gates of the jungle inclosing the dark
Suns of the southlands the depths of the well,
The dark red and hot caves of infernal hell
Finding unknown and to not keep on still,
Shall grant life and flesh to the champions will
Over the hill, its where I was born,
Climbed through the ground after having been torn,
Killer of ghoul and the guard of the law
The king in the mountain and lake after all.
The woman awaits, through nights and the days, for riddles to solve, and a new age to glow,
What comes of the king, was he to win,
That story is told in the candlelight dim