There lived a man in a castle up high Wise in the arts arcane A charm, a twinkle, with stars in his eyes Only one step away from insane His study lended not to an easy road His knowledge was vast, yet so were his foes A scheme was wrought, to eliminate his might And so our hero was attacked, one stormy night An arduous battle, his fingers grew numb The master knowing well his own demise “Of course,” he muttered, knowing this day would come “But I’ll make certain I shan’t be the only that dies” A shower of sparks took the man on one side A great freezing wind snuffed the other And in the center, madly sneering with pride Was the man he recognized as his brother “My kin, my own brethren, why could this be!” But he received no response The last thing he saw, falling from the balcony Was the glint of a smile that taunts And there he lay, sodden, among the rocks His tribulations had only just begun With a fire in heart, he prepares to run For this is the tale of the Warlock the past few weeks I’ve been living in hiding - no steed, no cart, no nothing for riding - but I’ve been biding my time, strategizing, devising - to claim the stage on which I’ll be alighting first things first, I’ve gotta find a way - to regain the powers that I had squandered in a day - with- out my magic and grimoire, then God has cursed my luck - you better bet that I’m no better than a sitting duck it’s a secret to all, but I may know of a staff hidden in the forest, no, this ain’t a gaffe - it be- stows a great magic, now you do the math - there’s no more perfect tool to carry my wrath I’ve been posing as a beggar and I’ve collected funds - it took a long time, cause they all came in ones - I’ve bought the ticket, I’m leaving soon - I’m heading off, to the forest of Doom And so he Ventured forth, on this mighty quest; looking For the staff, he squandered all his rest; Unsure his path; He found a small riverbed Following its line and making no repose There, at a lake, a house, close to ruination Photos from long days gone are overgrown There, at last, our hero proceeded onward Finding the staff that always was his own After collecting the staff, our hero took a slightly less treacherous journey back, and after a brief respite, went to confront the usurper you’ve crawled from your grave, so it seems, should’ve known, the lack of a corpse, made my crime too clean, a true mistake, to assume, that the wolves had torn you limb from limb now speak, you rat, and make it quick standing in the same room makes me sick - it’s the least, I could grant, for the ignorant soul who came to die again you’re mistaken, dear brother, for I know the facts - your impetus for ignorance can cut you some slack - but I know you’re not here for some silly farce - so cut the crap and come down here so I can kick your arse that magic staff you hold – ah, so you see - it’s the ultimate tool, to end your tyranny - I hardly see a purpose to a staff such as that - it’s magic capacity won’t allow for combat I see you’ve found the truth and, yes, that is so - but the one thing it’s good for, isn’t meant for a foe - I don’t want to kill you, you’re my own flesh and blood - so remember this staff and remember our love! (sick keytar solo, which is what the staff was all along) I understand now, in the error of my ways after that (sick) solo, I am no longer the same I’m sorry brother, for my longing for power my heart has calmed, like a blooming flower And so they went into the sunset - again, and forevermore, brothers