my son lies unconcious, bleeding and unattended.
it's not clear what he would have wanted,
but it is clearly not something i would have asked for.
we witness the loss of a battle which our masters bemoan
as if their blood flows onto the sand mingling with ours.
an ending they should have planned for but we could not.
we do not know if the enemy rejoices in our wretchedness
for the enemy is not to be found.
clearly i am meant to be king.
clearly it is my song.