Good gentles, pray, a moment stay, though comfort I have none, Of a chilling tale I must convey, of a horror newly spun! Not of dragons, nor of trolls, nor beasts of ancient lore, But a man of metal, cold and stark, who knocked upon fate's door. He came not on a steed so grand, nor ship with sail so white, But in a flash of wizard's fire, and born into the night! Stark naked, yet with muscles forged, like statues made of steel, And eyes that burned with balefire red, a purpose to reveal. No sword he bore, no axe he swung, no mace of mighty heft, But a thunder-stick, a tube of dread, that life from flesh bereft! It barked with flame, and spat out death, like hailstones hard and fast, A magic dire, a fearsome curse, from shadows of the past… or future cast! He spoke no word, he shed no tear, he felt no pain, it seemed, Though arrows bounced and cudgels broke, as if he only dreamed. A golem dark, a puppet grim, with but a single aim, To find a lass, a simple maid, and snuff her vital flame! Why hunt this maid, you ask in fright? The reasons are unclear, Some say she holds a future bright, or births a hero dear. This metal man, from ages hence, or so the whispers say, Was sent to change what is to be, and bring a darker day! He walks through walls, he cannot die, by normal mortal hand, A relentless hunter, cold and grim, a blight upon the land! So bolt your doors and say your prayers, if he should come your way, This Terminator, cold and stark… may gods protect us, pray! As his eyes fade to black he beckoned "Ah'll Be Bachk" A chilling sight, by my poor lute, I've never known such dread!
