He's ten feet tall, and eight feet wide
and it's said no edge can harm him
Woe be they who disturb his peace
For certain death befalls them.

The king feels not for man nor beast
His spirit's not within him.
He gave his soul to save his lands
From the things buried beneath them.

Powder roars, blades snicker-snack
But the king's sword sings Life Eternal
Its voice keens dozens of miles
Teaching fear to the infernal

His poison light burns children's eyes
Air splits apart around him
All places where the king sets foot
Are cursed for an age beyond him.

Should you impel our regent rise
Woe and weeping most befit you
For his quarry always falls,
And no afterlife awaits you.

You have ten minutes to prepare and start running. He's on foot; you'll need a horse just to match his pace. He knows where you are. Go now. Go NOW.