The call is sounded!
Sadness claims another soul...
I contour my lips, preparing a spell
Spoken not in my tongue, a dialect.
Eyes darting to and fro',
Coalescing my visage
Into a radiant weapon.
The incantation au francais?
A drunken Scotsmen clamoring for ale?
Too many spells,
Not enough enemies.
Arms franticly attacking the air,
I prepare my ultimate weapon
A coalition of joy,
banishing gloom where it festers.
Humor is my duty
A shining knight to the cause of joy
wielding laughter and mirth as a vicious diamond lance.
I have claimed the day!
Pride rushes over me like tumbling rapids,
drowning sadness in a pulse of happiness.
I must return...
Dystopia waits!
The call is sounded anew!
Off to the nightmare lands I trudge,
skirmishing with the dark once more.

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