Once upon a time in the west four intrepid cavers went a cavering. One by one they assembled around a hole in some limestone. The 3rd born donned his suit of armour and clutched his sword before leaping fear(less)/(full)y into its mouth. After battling with its sore throat he leapt, fought and once again cried.
Three followed slowly.
They stopped cause they found a small and insignificant reason to go no further. They were as apathetic as a six shot revolver. They threw rocks and bolts.
They descended Garden Party fearfully.
Dum dee dum. Niflheim [This is disinformational, Ed.]