Songs, Ballads, Other
Ever under the sea-stained sky,
Igor the Conquering King.
He brings with him a battle cry
and men that march and sing.
“O, Igor the Brave, Igor the Strong,
Igor the Conquering King!
Bring us to death, bring us to war,
While we march and sing
“What lies beyond the dawn-fire hills?
Beyond the bubbling spring?
Tell what victories will be wrought,
While we march and sing?”
And so they sang, the soldiers on,
Marching upon the wing.
Fleetly on the furtive road,
What would the next bend bring?
To war, to death, to blood, to fear,
With Igor the Conquering King
Ever glorious battle comes,
When men march and sing.
When battle came during the night,
Igor felt the Reaper’s sting.
To Yield or to die the captain cried,
His only offering.
Igor grinned and looked to his men
“I will say but one thing:
No man would ever become a slave
Let us see what death can bring.”
Will the eagles cry them to their sleep?
The wolves gnaw at their bones?
Will morning dew eat their blades?
The tales will never know.
[Here is a epic song to reflect on the fan flash fiction story that was written here. We hope that you enjoy! Please Like and Follow. And do not forget to share our Facebook page.]
The frost-wind howled, the candles burned,
The sun sank to the west;
Seigfeld’s sister both writhed and churned,
He held her to his breast.
His kin could not continue on,
The sickness was too strong;
Anon she would face death’s slow dawn,
Though she had done no wrong.
Seigfeld swore to save his sister,
Howls haunting in the night,
Every trickling tear a blister:
Her body was a blight.
So, Seigfeld roamed roads overgrown,
And every dusty track.
But, the grim hate he once had sown,
Gave to him nothing back.
He battered his boots, blacked his soul,
Seeking for her a cure.
Until he searched along the shoal,
And an old man told him sure:
“A tree that grows beneath the stone
Stands at the end of a cave
But those that fail to atone
Only find a waiting grave.”
Seigfeld sought to save his sister,
Holding no grief-pain back:
Letting his soul rot and fester
Living to hunt and track.
Demons and devils fell to death
From Seigfeld’s striking sword,
And though he breathed his final breath;
He could not quit his word.
Befouled body and martyred mind,
He felled both friend and foe;
And although his fate had been divined,
He feigned he did not know.
Betrayal brought him to his end,
Beneath a liquid lair.
And when he reached death’s descent,
He found his sister waiting there.