The drum beat’s fatalistic cry
Calls all to arms, perhaps to die,
To quell dark forces, they must try,
Before the dawn o’ertakes the sky.
From basement deep to towers tall,
Defenders step into the thrall
Of war, where friends and brothers fall
To fiends who heed the darkness’ call.
For they have one last paladin:
A boy of sacrificial kin,
Blood of defiance in his skin.
His banner high, they fight to win.
The wicked herd, it does immerse
Its foe with pain and muttered curse,
But then the Dark Lord’s troupe perverse
Parades his prey, a noisome hearse.
The Chosen One lies limp and still,
No prophecy left to fulfil.
Decrepit flesh exalts the kill,
Demanding all bend to his will.
But none bow down unto his might;
Instead, they rise back up and fight
To ward off evil’s lurking blight
And chase away the dark of night.
Amidst the fray, who should be there —
The Boy Who Lives — to face the Heir,
Just like an answer to a prayer.
The fate of all lays on that pair.
And in a flash, it all is done.
The Dark Lord falls, there stands just one.
The war, a simple spell has won
As new beginnings greet the sun.