In the thicket of the forest dwells a daft demented beast
Prowling through the foliage, squandering his last feast
His piercing stenchy odor permeates the musky breeze
Repulsive and unsightly he lurks cloaked beneath the trees
He lingers near the ancient channels when Vikings came here last
This artery of the forest's heart is the gateway to the past
To cross the river, a foul endeavor, one must be more than wise
To deceive this raged demon with fire in his eyes
This ruthless dreaded ogre is no illusion, do not drift
The only chance for us is you, so go on my son, be swift