In the end of the eleventh age
the player was left without a stage
Without a realm where he could reign
his stained sword, all that remained

The sun went out, the stars went dark
of light there was no single spark
His blood was running through the floor
when he finally said 'I'll fight no more'

As his knees faltered and his eyes closed shut
his body collapsed, his will was cut
The castle walls became a wreath
as he would draw his dying breath

And there he laid, the ground his bed
his body torn, but still not dead
for one more age there he would stay
as his poor soul would walk astray