No mundo da Lua

Autor pipe
A Sad Fallen Orc
Falling…Falling…Falling
Falls the twilight in the blood-soaked soil…
So fell 2-hundred men and orcish soldiers
Whose battle has bled the earth.

The Wargodish anger shown here,
Driven by fury and anger,
Has destroyed every single remainder of peace and well-being…

As their swords and shields did cry,
So do their wives and children…
For this battle has ended with no winner
But death and sorrow themselves…

Bleeding a thousand tears from his eye
Remains a Sad Fallen Orc
Crying and complaining:
“Death, why had thou taken me not?
All of my companions and enemies,
Whose Bloodlust was endless and eternal,
Has received their righteous priceless death;
So why, powerful and potent Death,
Mother of all disease and decadence,
Have you left me here, bleeding and emaciating…”

He, pathetically, cries and agonizes…
For this is the prize given for his unmatched and proud strength.
He has dreadfully slain all of his opponents…
“Death to all who oppose us, woe for them”.

All this worth and strength will echo eternally down this battlefield…
And, in a yet larger extension,
Will echo the feeble ridiculous cries and complaints
Of this fallen sad (yet Strong and Honored) orc…