I hate his stupid pointy ears His girlie, pretty looks He's just a helpless skinny runt Always engrossed in his books And when it comes to battle He hangs around at the back Waggling his arms and mumbling While the rest of us attack My trusty axe is certain To cause our foes distress Far more reliable than sparkles Caused by a "man" in a dress Which is why it deeply pains me That this weakling saved my skin What kind of fighter am I To need help from the likes of him? I shall not speak of this further The shame is too much to bear I can't bring myself to thank him Curse arm-wavers everywhere!