I look upon a hillside green, A cow takes water from a stream,
A fox in play handsome and lean, upon this hillside emerald green,
Though…
Through my window it all seems, so far away, as in a dream.
A breeze picks up to push the grass, in great long sweeps I see it pass,
The sun is high a molten mass, resembling gold or polished brass,
Yet…
Through my window it all seems, so far away, as in a dream.
And to the stream a shepherd lad, shoulders low and poorly clad,
Made his way, though face was sad, for three small sheep were all he had,
Alas…
Through my window it all seems, so far away, as in a dream.
And from the south a minstrel gay, dressed in scarlet white and grey,
Comes skipping toward the stream to stay, beneath a tree I see him lay,
A merry tune begins to play,
And still…
Through my window it all seems, quite far away, as in a dream.
Then ore the hill comes charging quick, a band of goblins armor thick,
And in their hand an iron pick, the sons of light they mean to STICK!
But no…
Through my window it all seems, quite far away, as in a dream.
The shepherd lad a warning cries, before the pick removes his eyes,
The minstrel flees, at least he tries, but goblin chief of massive size,
Outran the man who screaming dies!
Yet still…
Through my window it all seems, quite far away, as in a dream.
The sheep are taken as a snack, the cow is butchered, carried back,
The fox has fled for all are dead, the stream once clear runs ruby red!
And yes…
Through my window it all seems, quite far away, as in a dream.
Now as I gaze, all seams so still, nothing moves nor ever will,
For goblins bear the urge to ****, now crimson stains the emerald hill…
