by Nick Gisburne
She breaks their balls in battle, it’s her way
The pagan princess, Tina, reigns supreme
And when she’s high on sugar, so they say
She’ll fight until the cakes run out of cream
Her dragon armour shows a lot of skin
But touch it and she’ll rip your face in two
She staggers round the tavern, drinking gin
Her diva dreams are faded, failed, and few
She worries that her fists won’t pack a punch
And what will fall out first if she should trip
She longs to find a sea of skulls to crunch
Her arms can snap the biggest battleship
She’s cranky and she’s old, but not quite dead
She’ll fight you, but she’d rather stay in bed
