In the Land of Thistrelia, born and raised, in the taverns is where Bill spent most of his days, drinking and dancing and singing all night, belting out tunes with all of his might. Then a couple of rogues (who were hatching a plot), pulled Bill into their gang to ask what he thought. Just one little heist, he thought, what could go wrong?
When Bill whistled the signal (the cry of a lark), the rogues slipped inside, under cover of dark. But his conscience, it troubled him; thievery is wrong. Then he thought, “Nah, forget it! It’ll make a great song!”
Bill met them back at the inn, around seven or eight, and he yelled to the rogues, “Ho friends, where my share?” But as he counted his gold, he found something amiss. These jewels were famous… for they’d robbed the Prince.
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