The mighty men of ancient days are sleeping in the dust.
The kingdoms of the earth are sunk into the great abyss
Where worms forsake the carcass when there is no savor left.
What is man, that he should glory in his fleeting hour of breath?

I was a man who held the trust and honor of my lords.
In bloody fight, amidst the reek I added to the gore.
I was a servant to my king - may heaven bless his name -
A nobler soul I never knew, nor saw a bolder thane:
In battle swift as any wolf to shatter crowns and kings.

I fought beside him at the iron gates of SonVelline.

At SonVelline the city fell with stones upon our heads.
Their women's cry, a banshee wail, foretold what lay ahead.
And we, the pirates, heard their screams
And laughed against the stones
And vowed to grind their men to dust
And burn their pleasant homes.

We fought that day in autumn snow.
Long summer's siege had smoked them out.
My sword was crimson, dripping, gleaming.
We fought: our breath and blades both steaming.

Many an eye went dull, transfixed,
Mouths gaped beneath my sharpened scythe.
We pressed until the battle pitched before the walls
That hid their lives.

The carnage stoked to fever pitch,
We stormed the massive iron gates;
Our Gunther pressed the boldest fight,
Collapsed the flank, and couldn't wait.
He bit into the desperate host until, in fear,
They wheeled about.
As any cornered beast might do,
They turned upon us with a shout.

And then I saw my Lord, my liege
Cut off upon a barren ridge
With wounded friends, and no one else
Beside him on his day of fate.
And I, so young and so untested,
Found my heart between my teeth;
Yet if I fell, or I was bested,
Knew it must be at his feet.

With unknown strength I gave the cry,
"For Gunther, brothers, live or die!"
I led the charge into their swords and used
Slick bodies as a bridge
Across the rill that once had run so clear,
Now red: defiled and still.

I ran upon the giant, Lod, and
Smote and spilled his steaming bowels.
I saw dumb shock upon his face as
He beheld them slipping out.
No time to stop; a dart hit hard;
I whirled and slashed another man
Who found himself without an arm and spilled
Hot blood into the sand

Mighty lions, little sheep: I slew the valiant and the weak.
Ten wounds I took, and each may tell the total...
If I battled well.
At last our brothers drove them back,
And rushed the gates to ram and crash
While warm, soft sleep stole over me.
No battle swirled there in my dreams.

The years have fallen like the leaves.
I, crippled, learned to play and sing.
I never since have done a deed so great
As when I saved my king.
Yet I, unworthy, served to save
Our best and bravest lord and king.

Those days are past.
Now Gunther sleeps
And I must wander for my keep.

Hear me, you people, mark it well:
You'll never know a greater king,
Who loaded you with gold and jewels
And stormed the gates of SonVelline.

At SonVelline the mighty fell;
The blowflies crawled on every face.
You still wear filigree and rings borne all the way from SonVelline.
Borne unto you by this great king -
At cost of lives from SonVelline.

Young fools dream of gold and glory;
Old fools recount fame and gold;
Wise men turn from youthful dreams
To mourn the bodies now left cold.

Who will make the widows glad?
Or who can make the orphans sing?
Wise men turn and feed the weak,
Yet none can rebuild SonVelline.
Kingdoms pass, and minstrels sing,
But none can heal their fitful dreams.

None can give their fathers life

Or raise the gates of SonVelline.