He lived alone outside the kingdom,

An old man whom time shaped with wisdom,

His whole life wasted for the foolish slime,

Now he stayed between the animals and grime,

His courage, his wisdom, his power,

All lost for the agony and pain,

Every second, every minute, every hour,

A hero's life is being lost in vain.

Once he was the hero of the land,

Wandering in a forgotten band,

Him and his allies, on a holy quest,

They fought against evil, and took no rest.

Alain and Cuthbert, the knights of old,

One was strong, the other bold.

They wandered in search of the Tower,

Through rain and hail, and every hour,

They always faced an uncertain fate,

Their road riddled with traps, they fell to bait,

They were seduced by women into lust,

And saw fear in a handful of dust.

They marched undaunted, towards destiny's door,

Alain, Cuthbert and he, to do a noble chore,

It was 'Bert to go down first,

In a time of hunger and thirst,

His life he lost to a viscous bear,

When hunting was his only affair.

They marched undaunted, towards destiny's door,

Alain and he, to do a hero's chore,

It was Alain next, when an arrow's flight,

Met his path, to end his noble plight.

Undaunted he marched, towards destiny's door,

Alone, to do a noble chore,

He lost those that he held so dear,

And for each he shed a lonely tear.

A heap of broken images,

Where the Tower lay,

On one side a field of roses,

Th'other danger lurked at bay,

Its shadow of enormous girth,

Made him feel like a baby at birth.

When finally to the Tower he came,

He lost all memories of the beast he tamed,

And entered its doors, the nexus of life,

Where the Triforce awaited to end his strife,

With the glass ball, he headed back,

The way he came, along the winding track,

With thoughts of Hryule, his mind ran astray,

He was coming home, this time to stay.

The Triforce, or so the legends say,

Shall keep the evil minions at bay,

When demons haunt these sacred lands,

A hero's rise shall keep them at hand.

But the Triforce does not mend,

The rotten hearts which many held,

Into exile he was sent,

Mourning the wasted time he spent,

He lost those that he held so dear,

And for each he shed a lonely tear.

That all happened long ago,

When there was a chance for the river to flow,

When some hearts were still honest and pure,

And there was still a chance for cure,

When king's never dared to lie,

And eagles still soared high.

At night he sees his companion's faces,

And there he can still see the traces,

The scars, the hate, the accusing eyes,

They came towards him, wanting his demise,

It was the same thing every night,

He always dreamt this bloody sight,

He would awake amidst agony and pain,

And weep his tears of lucent rain.

But one day his end shall come,

Between the rising moon and the setting sun,

He'll close his eyes on an unforgiving world,

And find another, with sights to behold,

His quest, his life, all lost in vain,

He shall sleep, never to awake again