After all I've done for the council,
they'd so soon be rid of me.

Give me a million meat I'll only squander it — promise 
you —
gambling, angling to shut down my entanglement. Honest 
to
goodness, wish I could quit The Kingdom,
leave it. I'd sing like how you hear some people sing 
when
they're happy about something, hearts bursting open.
But I find that each ascension, I get reborn holding 
tokens
instead of gripping onto everlasting peace.
Level one and fighting rabbits. Nothing for a feast.
Nothing for the thirst. Armor is wack.
A familiar bar basement, turning off the tap
for the rats. Stocking up on gum and string.
Got a long life ahead, deja vu: what it may bring.
Yet I can't put it down till the crystal breaks,
and by that time I'm an old stick figure, got stakes
in the world as it stands, don't want to leave it,
conceive it.

Nuts to dyin'! I like lingering more.
Just because the councilmembers think the monsters are 
a chore
and (just because I draw them into being) reach accord
that I should be banished? Yo I should be adored.
What's more, their monarch's liberty problem persists
if I don't take matters up into my fists,
my instruments and my cooking utensils,
and cease the sorceress's reprehensible dissemblance:
make her show her sausage. Fight it with my wand.
Might sound a little dirty but the creatures like to 
spawn.
And if I adventure at all, I find a few before long.
Barely notice them now, I'm so sneaky and strong.
So the council requests I desist? I'm unwilling.
Take the basement to its bottom 'fore I vanish. Am I 
still in
The Kingdom though tempted by plexiglass?
You could give me a million meat, it won't last.