Look you there, upon the hill,
that’s not an old and withered tree.
Although it may not look like much,
that is Xanaloth you see.
He’s waiting for the clouds to come
and block the moon from sight,
and Xanaloth waits patiently
for the darkest black of night.
Once it’s too dark to see at all,
you hear an eerie sound,
like someone screaming quietly
as roots tear from the ground.
The ground shakes and you want to run,
but you’re rooted to the spot.
Which is strange, because you know
that Xanaloth is not.
What does he do upon that hill?
Why can you not flee?
A moonbeam passes through the clouds
and finally you see.
At sunrise, there’s the withered tree,
atop the familiar hill,
but you know that deep inside
Xanaloth is dancing still.