Over the hills and far away
There stands a castle, till this day.
Wars did come, never sought,
No enemy ever crossed its fort.
There within its dark, damp, halls
Shelves house tomes against the walls.
Fading pages on ancestors speak;
Praising heroes but not the weak.
Will white-gloved hands turn the pages
To reveal the truth of bygone ages;
Of vengeance sort by spurned lovers
Dethroned kings and many others?
Or will a fireball, from Outer Space,
Erase it all without a trace?

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