But here it is.
It's a tavern song, one of those you sing around campfires with mugs of mead or in taverns with mugs instead of tankards.
It might be an orcish song... or just a mercenary's song...
The song is almost without rhyme and completely lacks style and meter.
bite-bite-bite
poor little Christians
are they defenseless?
well, let them be!
they have tasty thighs!
I'm hungry
alas
for my dear dragon
along the scorched path
of grass
carry away your legs
the ashes of your
villages
the grass is juicier
the night is as bright as
a new day
the coal quietly smolders
let's raise our mugs
brother
singing a song
in the distance, the alarm bell rings
warming the soul
It's unfinished... but maybe it will stay that way.
Except the ones we've made