Purchase the purpose in this place.

A mind is a terrible thing to taste...leave me be
with my horn, oh fate!

I helped the dwellers find food in fruitfull surroundings
still I saved a swimmer from drowing
I stopped a clown from frowning, surely that counts for something?

Purchase the purpose in this place

where trees grow money and misery
and the towns are engrossed in history
of people that meant nothing to society

I find myself eating the grass, not so green anymore
it has a sour taste of failed valour
and I'm just sore

I am hungry as I am lost in fantasy
children no longer believe in me
my castle is now a distant memory

So the horn I no longer waste