Few Sons Are Like Their Fathers -

If You Serve Too Many Masters, You'll Soon Suffer.

Sing, O Muse, Of The Rage Of Achilles, Son Of Peleus, That Brought Countless Ills Upon The Achaeans.

That Is The Gods' Work, Spinning Threads Of Death Through The Lives Of Mortal Men, An All To Make A Song For Those To Come.

One Rogue Leads Another.

We Battle On In Words, As Always, Mere Words, And What's The Cure? We Cannot Find A Thing.