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I am the thorn in the foot, I am the blur in the sight
I am the worm at the root, I am the thief in the night
I am the rat in the wall, the leper that leers at the gate
I am the ghost in the hall, herald of horror and hate.

What do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, the craft and the lie?
I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing;
Rush in and die, dogs - I was a man before I was a king.

The Hangman asked of the carrion crow, but the Raven made reply:
"Black ride the men who ride with Death beneath the midnight sky,
"And black each steed and grey each skull and strange each deathly eye.
"They have given their breath to grey old Death and yet they cannot die."

He told how murderers walk the earth beneath the curse of Cain,
With crimson clouds before their eyes and flames about their brain:
For blood has left upon their souls its everlasting stain.