Battered figures know only dispair The world has crushed them. Why should they have hope?
Hope hangs by a thread Yet here stands the Paladin Who does not waver Who waits for the hordes with calm determination
Who is the paladin they ask?
Should they help the still figure?
Blinding rain sweeps the wasteland. Dark clouds advance The hordes shout and laugh at one who would stand One who would defy
Alone the paladin stands
As evil marches in full confidence to tear, break, and bloody A young girl sees the paladin upon the hill No one stir No one will help the Paladin She cries pleadingly with fearful faces Still.
No one will help the Paladin
She cries for the paladin to run Her sobs drowned out by the beating of drums
The Paladin does not run, though is touched Behind a mask of strength; a smile
Spring will come Evil will follow This is how it is and shall always be