There is an untold story of that night,
when the Trojan Horse won the ****** fight.
There was an unsung hero on the Greek’s side,
by the name of Prisius of the Pride.
He was strong, stronger than the valiant Odysseus.
He was brave, braver than the courageous Menelaus.
The Greeks fought for their lives,
on the very tip of their knives.
Cries of mercy, sorrow, pain filled the night.
Greeks prayed and prayed with all their might.
Then, Prisius came down from Mount. Olympus itself,
with no one but his horse and himself.
He conquered and captured, and at last had Odysseus at his feet.
“Oh! Mighty One, spare my poor life!” cried he in defeat.
Prisius wasn’t cruel, so he freed Odysseus with a solemn vow.
As soon as he freed the lying hero, Odysseus faked a gracious bow.
Then in moment’s notice, Odysseus slit Prisius’s throat
rolled it down the open sea, the head still floats.
Oh! Tragedy befell the town, the death of their only hope
gone out in the open, down the dangerous slope.
Prisisus lies, cold and dead, from an unfair fight.
This is the untold story of that night.