The Bar approaches, the time is near, the trial, the undertaking.
The journey, the struggle to improve our minds, our task we cannot be faking.
A monster, the boss at the end of the game, but jump on his head enough,
Evade his fire, his thrashing tail, and he will later not seem so tough.
Our brains punch-drunk, our minds wired shut, trapped in the laws' depth and darkness,
The blackletter jaws, clamp down on our necks, choking out all the brightness.
But if we put in our time, our rhythm and rhyme, we will grow strong with every hypo.
The monster will cower, all his bitter and sour, he'll be revealed as a lowly old troll.
We'll move past the bridge, a hindrance no longer, a clear path to greener pastures.
So we dig our heels deep, chug, crawl or creep, because this just won't go any faster.