There was a small village.
Where happy people lived.
But when the vikings came, causing pain.
ransacked a town left burning but condemned by rain.

A youngster came along.
saw that all happiness was gone.
buildings blackburned and hidden zombies.
not able seeing the salvation of survival in their eyes.
in fact there has been no war.
everybody refused to help, or were to trembled by fear.
The war will never be won.

All the time after the disaster.
the young fellah, is still smilling.
unto the bitter angry chief of the village.

whinning: why are you laughing?
Oh I don't mean it that bad dear lad.
would I yearn for a time we once met?
could I not build it better than last time.
Why don't you consider time.
it's falling of your sleeve.
but ever since you are the killjoy.
and harbringer of happiness, you are your own thief.

but what could I possibly do?

well you could get the other mourners together.
bury corpses, making a bigger city.
building better strongholds.
So you might take a chance next time these savages appear.
enjoy life, it's short, but a mourning second never crawls back in.
it's lost for a lifetime.