/// LETRA ///
They say he walked where angels feared to crawl,
with half a map and scribbles on the wall.
A smirk, a rope, and curses bound to fall—
yet somehow climbed out, scratchless, through it all.

He tricked a warlord blind in Kathmandu,
escaped in boots laced up with jungle dew.
Blew up a train, or maybe just a coup...
depends on who survived to tell it true.

One day he robbed a tomb in Istanbul,
the next, he’s going through a Spanish duel.
With relics stolen, stories packed like fuel,
he left no temple quiet, no god to rule.

Nathan Drake, the man who fell upwards through fate,
found cities lost beneath dust and debate.
Some say he lied, some say he tempted hate—
but legends never wait, they detonate.

He chased his ghosts from coast to coast,
each scar a line in poems no one boasts.
He laughed through death and drank with every host...
if luck was treasure, he found the most.

He called himself no hero, just a thief,
but stole from time, and maybe even grief.
A half‑tucked shirt, a notebook full of belief,
and rope burns wrapped like chapters underneath.

With Sully by his side and smoke in air,
they bartered past with charm and reckless flair.
He kissed the edge of cliffs that weren’t there—
then leapt and grinned like gravity was fair.

A pirate king once cursed him in his tomb,
Drake answered back by looting every room.
His name is inked where catacombs still bloom,
carved into myth, not carved into a tomb.

Nathan Drake, the man who fell upwards through fate,
found cities lost beneath dust and debate.
Some say he lied, some say he tempted hate—
but legends never wait, they detonate.

He chased his ghosts from coast to coast,
each scar a line in poems no one boasts.
He laughed through death and drank with every host...
if luck was treasure, he found the most.

He vanished clean, or so the whispers go,
no grave, no gold, just footprints in the snow.
A daughter found his maps—so time will show,
if stories sleep, or simply lay below.

The legends fade, but not that roguish tone,
his grin still hides in cliffs and buried stone.
Where treasure calls, you're never quite alone—
some echoes wear a voice you've always known.

So raise a glass where mysteries ignite,
to the man who stole from stars and fled the night.
No crown, no throne—just truth too wild to write...
and boots still muddy with the winds of flight.

Nathan Drake, the man who fell upwards through fate,
found cities lost beneath dust and debate.
Some say he lied, some say he tempted hate—
but legends never wait, they detonate.

He chased his ghosts from coast to coast,
each scar a line in poems no one boasts.
He laughed through death and drank with every host...
if luck was treasure, he found the most.

One Last Climb - Nathan Drake

I write, i direct, i decide, it simply generates. Ai song maker for fun an my own enjoyment, you don't have to like it :)

One Last Climb - Nathan Drake

KnightKakashi