Out of the old, heavy armour,
In the now silenced streets of red,
I don’t see a murky valour
But eternal bliss of the shed.
There is no fire in my veins,
No remnants of our glory past.
Yes, I did give in to your reins,
Though numbered ’twas still not the last.
To rever me in her new court,
Perhaps, her grief, the queen will speak.
From Gates of Hell, to you, I’ll quote,
“It is never what warriors seek.”
The sword has trembled in my hand
And for she I’ve been a disgrace.
But never stepped down, O my land!
All’s a trifle but your embrace.
Faced the scorching Sun with a smile,
Often concealed my face with blood
Yet you sighed just in the first mile
And still, here I lie in the mud.
“A warrior” my epitaph says,
I am much flattered with it though,
Fought a lost battle all those days,
Today in front of none I bow!