Danzilona, Danzilona

A city hued in a dying light.

Where there was once glory

it turned to a sorry story.

The product of a hateful might.

There once were dozens

of Danzilonans,

but the city was stricken by a plight.

First there was a plight of Bees

hovering about the trees

which sucked the happiness out of the blocky life.

Soon after a gap in history

one which still remains my mystery.

The land erupted in civil strife.

Men came in frightful prot,

And took most of what we got.

Soon after, another involving swords of smite.

There was a conflict involving the fords of rivers,

and our great family left hither-tither.

And so with the end of the age of dying light,

may we once again rise in modest might.