A long, long time ago…
I can still remember
How these wacky worlds used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That they all could honour Mr. Vance
And maybe they’d be happy for a while.
But the last months made me shiver,
With every blogpost I’d deliver.
Bad news on the reader;
It couldn’t get much meaner.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The year, the hobby died.
So bye-bye, miss haubergeon pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And good old boys were havin‘ cheetos and rye
Yellin‘ „nat twenty now to save or I’ll die“
Did you write the books in white and brown
And do you object that scanty gown,
If the Chick tells you so?
Do you believe in RPGs,
Can gaming bring you to your knees,
And can you teach me why haste is better than slow?
Well I know that you’re in love with him
I’ve seen you rolling in the gym
You both pulled out your dice
Man I love those golems of ice!
I was a lonely teenage broncin‘ buck
With a book on the burgundian wars and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the hobby died.
I started singin‘:
Now for ten years we’ve been lacking the most
And moss grows fat on the wizard’s coast
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the jester dm’d for the whole midwest
Illustrated by a man with vest
In a voice that came from you and me,
Oh and while the king was looking down,
The lady stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while hagen read a book of rice,
new people followed like fluted mice.
We sang dirges in the dark
The day the hobby died
We were singing,
Tap-tap doom in the gothic gloom
The kids flew off on a magic broom,
Like half-blood phoenix from deathly hallows
Will they put us to the gallows?
The players tried for a forward crusade,
With the jester on the moathouse in the shade.
Now the lake’s air was putrid stench
While fat virgins tried to score with the wench
We all got there to game,
But it was such a shame!
‚cause the golems tried to take the field;
The digital band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The year the hobby died?
We started singin,
Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation connected through cyberspace
With no time left to start again.
So come on: carefully word the final wish!
Could I just forget about the gish,
Cause the fire is the efreet’s only friend.
Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
Why did this hulk from hell,
Do away with the memorized spell?
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw posters laughing with delight.
The day the hobby died.
I was singing:
I met a boy who played the game
And asked him for some happy name.
But he just smiled and said „fight on“.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I’d played the game years before,
But the man there said no chance to get something older on.
And in the streets the children screamed,
The low-rollers died and, and the GMs dreamed.
But not a word was spoken.
The RPing everywhere was broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son and the holy ghost,
Could never get a job now at the coast
The day, the hobby died.
And they were singing,