
   Song of the Slayer

 In smoke filled skies
  fly glowing red eyes,
 with leathery wings
  and a tail that stings,
 with breath of fire
  and smoldering pyre,
 a scaley beast
  prepares to feast.

 You raise your blade
  as light does fade,
 and settle your heart
  and take aim smart,
 for shadows cast
  and the time has past,
 you stand your ground
  against a roaring sound.

 Its flight is swift
  and bores a rift,
 down he soars, grumbles,
  and roars,
 your palms sweat
  and battle is met,
 combat to begin and
  the flames do descend.

 Guilded in splender and
  burnt to a sender,
 the ground is alite
  in a fiery sight,
 you strike its scales
  to the air it sails,
 thrashing its tail
  while you dodge it well.

 Comes again
  this serpent of sin,
 rage in its heart
  like a plumiting dart,
 prepare your lance
  for the final dance,
 and say your prayer:
  "For thee is the slayer!"

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