I. Eventually we forgot your myth because I saw nothing in it. An epic’s just opinion, and I couldn’t find the rhythm, so I abandonned it. We all have our own heroes, and it’s for you to write your own ballads. You can’t count on me, I have so few words for you.
II. You have a knack for the epic: everything that comes out of your mouth is pure legend. I jump right into your river Styx and know I’m believing fairy tales again. What finally surprises me is how far in I really am, neck deep and still kicking. I have all this enthusiasm, only for getting twisted up with you and your myth.
III. Tragedies are told for the tears at the end, and I sing your song with guilt because it doesn’t hurt enough. And when it does, will I be satisfied? Take back your horses; go tell Charon that Pluto and my pomegrante are waiting.