How much more can these Trojan sands consume?
They have my honor, my armor ad the spear that I threw
My stricken comrades fight with bravery yet stand in their sorrow
Fearing the ashen spears will hit their mark tomorrow

The kindness of the Achaean camp is dead
And for such a crime I'll make these sands run red

My dearest comrade; my brother in arms
The sun god left me with mere memories of your charms

He ripped your own sweet life away
Like fog being dissipated by a bright shining ray

You were stripped and Hector had my blazing helm
The darkness that descended felt like it came from another realm

I spread ash on my face and defiled my hair with my hands
My clothes and hair were coated with the hated Trojan sands

Antilochus kneeled near weeping his proud heart out
Clutching my wrists for fear I would, with the iron blade, rip my throat out

My mother heard my try from the bottom of the sea
So, she came to camp to try to comfort me

She cradled my head in her hands, tears streaming down her face
I felt the skin I knew I’d never more embrace

My mother says I’m doomed to death by the brother of the one who stole your breath
Then let me die at once since it was not by fate to save my dearest comrade from his death

I could feel the anger bubbling inside me
I suppressed the urge to scream like a war torn banshee

No one could stop me from fighting; no one could persuade me now
To Hector’s greatness I soon began to disavow

I will go back to war with Hephaestus’ armor buckle to my back
I could all but hear the screams of the men I would soon attack

I will fight without the blazing armor
I will **** all those who oppose me down to the last lowly farmer

These sands give me no mercy
However there is no controversy

I will avenge your death; I must
You were the only one I could ever trust

Breathing room in war is all too brief
So I’ll make Hector’s blood stain every clover leaf

I lay my hands on your icy-cold chest
Everyone else will go unaddressed

I will not burn your honey-soft skin
Not till Hector has atoned for his sin

I try to clear your blood-clotted wounds
The thought of loosing you I could not attune

I killed Hector with my sword in his throat
But there is still more to you I could devote

A dozen Trojan sons , a snow white ox, and a lock of golden hair
This is cruel, cruel warfare

Your silver, glittering ghost spoke
I reached out to seize you but you disappeared in a whisp of smoke

I weep to these sands my ravaging tears
They are the epitome of my greatest fears