Put into prison to pay for his folly
Festered in filth and fought against cleaning
Doer of deeds in the dark across years
His brother's the bad one, bane of house-peace.
Akin to Cain, and cursed therefore,
Wandered once through wetlands to plains,
Home to the hills in hard times returned,
An arm to be offered on no altar
Though sacrificed, spent, for songs to endure.
A mother, a mere-wife, a monster still waits
A sword standing by, awaiting its stroke.
Whose is the hand that will take up that handle
Bring blade to bear?
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