Through the glade you'll find a place,
Where the first of a trail is laid.
Run it over mountains to summits atop,
And back down to the canyons below.

Through the forest ammased with the skrawny remains of the trees that once reigned, yet journey on a path of gold.
Over bridges, where blood and bones run below,
And monsters sit in darkness and smoke, waiting till the time their presence may be known.

Follow the trail,
Sets sights not on the bread, but the path ahead.
A Gingerbread house with icing upon it's walls, only a facade, it'll be too late to see before it falls.