The large steed o' ebon approaches, at the foot of the mountains you wait, all around you watchful eyes stare, then on a ledge many miles above your head a large black steed looks downat you, be at my lands you have to b strong, is that you?
The chilly breeze rushs through your mane, all you see is the mountains of rocks, tis the land you should watch your back in.
The Great Land
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