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You stride up the hill
Leaning only on your will
The stones are dark and hard
You wish you had a bard
To tell a story bright
Of glory and of might
To lift your heavy spririt
And then compose your merit
Your steps come to a stop
From brow you wipe a drop
Behold the cavern stares
Two eyes within there glares
Out comes the dreaded beast
Surely not afraid the least
You stare into its eye
And pray for it to die
The beast bends back its head
You tremble, filled with dread
By the roar with a voice so low
You then strike a deadly blow
Your hand held a mighty sword
The strike came without a word
The beast was made for loving
Without capability of grudging
Its target of this love so grand
Was you, the smiter of the land
It heard your steps coming closer
Its heart kept getting warmer
When your head showed there
In front of the cavern where
The beast looked into your eye
And had to ask itself why
It felt the hatred and fear
And quickly wiped a tear
It stepped out into the light
Not fearing any of your might
Sadly it let out a call
As it knew that it had to fall
Loving more than you would know
It embraced your final blow
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