What feverish dreams do pulse at night
and so snatch a man’s fancies in the dark?
What tugs at his soul with all its might?
On what quest commands him to embark?
The chime of iron and the smell of earth
The promise of blood and victory calls
Lures men away from home and hearth
to join our forebears in their glorious halls
What vision haunts a mediocre man
during the restless nights of his dreary life?
Where is his king to whom he can
gladly give in service his sword and life?
Modernity trapped him in dreadful ways
where success is measured in targets met
No struggle in his bland and equal days
and life’s only burden is financial debt
And so he conjures up long lucid dreams
from the depths of his heroic being
in which enemies he fells, reams and reams
and sends them pusillanimously fleeing
So desperately does he want to smash
his ikea seats and his ikea chair
He wants to rage and turn to trash
this hellish prison of rote despair
For never does it provide
any venue for escape
To mount a horse and ride
unbound by red tape.
No, decency and good standing
dictate he acts as the slave he is
Mutely accept his chains and branding
and listen to his masters’ hiss
He dreams of a glorious endeavor
when he gets to fight for flag and king
because his safe lacklustre life can never
offer him the same heroic thing
A life that all the gold cannot buy
A cause and duty draped with high ideals
To fight and perchance be graced to die
on the heroic path that Sol reveals
Life is a sacred gift is often said
as men soullessly cling to their dreary ways
With unknown name, what life is to be had?
But blessed is he who dies in a fiery blaze
Such a death is not a waste
for it grants fallen heroes the key
to the place where they shall taste
honor and grace for all eternity
