Unsung the hero, who hides behind the tavern door
Craving the peace and quiet of isolation
Too long he has been in forefront, leader of his men
Now he wishes only for a pint of ale and a peaceful den
Once a man of fame and notoriety
A general, wise in warcraft
Eighty men answered to his call
Brothers, kinsmen all
Many battles they fought and won
Celebrations went on through the night
And weary worn they were,
When sunlight brought a deadly sight
Drunk and overwhelmed
A mind-controlling potion in his beer
Our hero took up his blade
And acted on the words of his Seer
Whispering in his innocent ear
Betrayal was their intent, his greatest fear
Death to all disloyal ones should be his reaction
He listened to her words and took action
He drugged their drinks
Waited for them all to fall asleep
Then with baited breath and steel held tight
He slipped out at the dead of night
With stealth and hidden blade,
He swiftly crept amongst them
A slash of steel across their throat he tore
Silencing his men for evermore
But one survived, his brother's youngest son
A youth no more than sixteen years
Hidden in the upper rooms of the barn
He witnessed the scene and raised the alarm
Guards came running as fast as could be
But too late alas for the eighty
All lay upon their beds
Their life force bleeding out, all were dead
So now he sits within
Each night he returns to the inn
Forever condemned to replay continually
The scene of his murdering activity
Enveloped in darkest hood,
Wishing invisibility, as if he could
For how can one, with such a noted face as he
Hide himself from publicity?
For evermore he is not allowed to forget
In shame his face he shields
Remembering that blood-filled night
And still the nightmare haunts
His memories crowd everything out
As he lives again the battles he fought
The clash of ringing steel, the screams of his men
As deep in flesh his slashing blade is cruelly caught
With reddened bloodlust upon him
His madness came down,
With swinging blade and slashing knife
He took all, young and old, he took away their life
His own men, he slaughtered them, all of them fell
He killed everyone with not one single tear
He saw only demons, tormenting, egging on his fear
But this is his story to tell
But his story is long and arduous in the telling
And he no longer can relate,
For his tongue is long since frozen
At the horrors he cannot negate
The shame of his actions
Lie deeply set in stone within his heart
Buried with his brothers, his own kin
When he murdered them all with bloodied grin
The mists of time have traveled now
And though others minds have grown dim
This unsung hero, who slayed his own
Still sits in darkened inn.
Accursed is he, to sit alone, forever in a cycle
To relive that day a thousand times
To see the ones he counted as friends and kin
Continually encircling, haunting him
Brave is the one who dares to tell his tale
To rouse the ghosts we thought were dead
But do not pity him my friends
Because mercy was not in his head
Vengeance was on their mind
When they took away his mortality
Forever to sit and remember,
The day he slaughtered his own kind
