Noodle slappers
deadly witches
dressing in elizabethan prose
I zinged my zang
and sliced their hearts
and turned them both to gold
13 favours each they dropped
And I, I sheathed my sword
I carried on past gates of iron
and walked on stones of cold
I made my way up to the chest
alas, I didn't make it
my reward was nigh, but I did die
and all was black and formless
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