Only one knows-
where the spring flows-
from the mystical stories of old.

Many have died-
and thousands have tried-
searching: for the fountain of gold.

An endless fight-
a herculian plight-
impossible: just as was told.

These men would embark-
on a journey so dark-
their gods: making them bold.

Yet a betrayel so stark-
Already with spark-
Brought down wraths: tenfold.

we mourn for the lost-
a needless cost-
forever: death making them cold.