As a man of many syllables,
but just a single name,
I have spent my life unwisely
and I’ll end without acclaim
without ballads of my travels
without trinkets, without fame
without friends to mourn my passing
though I’ll pass on all the same.
We’re in a world of wingless pixies
songless sirens; dead undead
where manatees are mermaids
and a dragon’s myth instead;
where the unicorns are hornless
and beliefs are filled with doubt
and where proof is always needed
to believe in things without.
Where the witch hunters had done so well
they've taken other trades
and where mages have retired
and the knights have rusted blades;
where the coopers and the fletchers
have been rendered obsolete
and where bards forgot the tales
of the heroes we’ll never meet.
In this world devoid of magic
where believers are thought fools;
where the stars have lost their meaning
and the rich make up our rules;
where adventures now are guided
or confined to a passing thought—
if this is where we’re living
then I guess I’d rather not.