So It Is That The Gods Do

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.

A Little Child Born Yesterday A Thing On Mother's Milk And Kisses Fed.

Strife And Confusion Joined The Fight, Along With Cruel Death, Who Seized One Wounded Man While Still Alive And Then Another Man Without A Wound, While Pulling The Feet Of One More Corpse Out From The Fight. The Clothes Death Wore Around Her Shoulders Were Dyed Red With Human Blood.

Oh, Everything Looks Bad If You Remember It.

For Never, Never, Wicked Man Was Wise.