The injust but dignified poet just stepped up on the stage, Drank an ounce of shiz beer and is now ready to slay The battlefields are his home and the fire flowers his bed Beware magmars, or else to his steed you'll be fed His shiny armor has never been grazed or even touched by any foe, Holds his own trophy cuz noone would even get the last blow All the town elders assemble to provide him with their blessing And when RevoltVer then shows up, the time has come to start stressing A fatal wound or...