After all I've done for the council,

they'd so soon be rid of me.

Give me a million meat I'll only squander it — promise you —

gambling, angling to shut down my entanglement. Honest to

goodness, wish I could quit The Kingdom,

leave it. I'd sing like how you hear some people sing when

they're happy about something, hearts bursting open.

But I find that each ascension, I get reborn holding tokens

instead of gripping onto everlasting peace.

Level one and fighting rabbits. Nothing for a feast.

Nothing for the thirst. Armor is wack.

A familiar bar basement, turning off the tap

for the rats. Stocking up on gum and string.

Got a long life ahead, deja vu: what it may bring.

Yet I can't put it down till the crystal breaks,

and by that time I'm an old stick figure, got stakes

in the world as it stands, don't want to leave it,

but I must — because I plague it, as the council would conceive it.

Nuts to dyin'! I like lingering more.

Just because the councilmembers think the monsters are a chore

and (just because I draw them into being) reach accord

that I should be banished? Yo I should be adored.

What's more, their monarch's liberty problem persists

if I don't take matters up into my fists,

my instruments and my cooking utensils,

and cease the sorceress's reprehensible dissemblance:

make her show her sausage. Fight it with my wand.

Might sound a little dirty but the creatures like to spawn.

And if I adventure at all, I find a few before long.

Barely notice them now, I'm so sneaky and strong.

So the council requests I desist? I'm unwilling.

Take the basement to its bottom 'fore I vanish. Am I still in

The Kingdom though tempted by plexiglass?

You could give me a million meat, it won't last.