Poezja

See I you as enemy mine,
Ancient hatreds of blood and kine,
See I you as enemy old,
Turned asunder with steel cold.

See these arms, and how they clench,
At the air between us with power bent.
A'Curse upon this passage yours,
Until the fated midnight hours.

Spit, I do at your fabled peace,
Your lies, your tales, your deciets.
No peace, between us enemies sworn.
only death and honor, Pride and scorn.

Avenged will be the slight of ancient days.
A deed to be chronicled in saga lays.
Ours shall be the end of ends to come.
When et'all our blades will be done.

Till bright the sun has dimmed at last,
your greatest age has come to pass,
And triumphed, high my lance still stands,
Held proud, held strong, in mine own hands.

This oath is upon me,
And all of my blood.
Until my line, is ashes and dust.