The hyms are sung before the altars,

The mortal blood is spilled like wine,

The hangmen beautify the martyrs,

Lord is good, death is young.
I saw feared heroes, I heard cowards boast,
 I saw tears keep on running from dead eyes.
 I'm no more a nound; I need no command.
 Just what throat to tear or what hand to lick.
I pray to starve to steal or     lay Di e Rather than to be a king's favorite freak.