Sit down, boys and girls.
Stay a while, and listen.

In ancient days, in ancient times
The phantom known as Herobrine
Once walked amongst those in sunshine
In our world known as Minecraftia.

His watchful eyes surveyed the land;
Where evil struck, he'd take his stand
And diamond sword in his just hand
He'd fight the monsters of Minecraftia.

But time obscures, and years since passed;
He fought the mobs to the very last,
And at their hands, his hopes were dashed;
Herobrine was claimed by Minecraftia.

And with him gone, a void erupted;
The grass had died, the sands corrupted.
His phantom chained, like a vicious puppet,
By the greatest evil in Minecraftia.

Lord Israphel, of the undead forces
Snuffed Herobrine like many broken torches;
Through the phantom's blood, now hatred courses.
Once hero, now villain, of Minecraftia.

But legend holds there may be hope.
Saviors will come, and they will cope;
With wills of Justice, they set the scope
Of saving our world of Minecraftia.

A spaceman, clad in crimson dress.
A dwarf of Khaz Modan, with zest.
Avenging those who failed the test
Of retaking Israphel's Minecraftia.

And what of Herobrine, you say?
With Israphel's demise, he may
Be freed of darkness in this way.
Saved by the light of Minecraftia.