It's almost impossible to get through
He hardly barely see
doesn't even know he's walking

Under the heavy royal clothes
his back lies open, even worse
than his face with the wound

where an ear has been struck off
A living dead, for ever
holy for his Striving

Men push forward, they attack
the platoon with a lot of noise. No chance
Only a few soldiers are killed

At the Skull Pit, the women watch
the king's lashing
his broken nose against the wood

the deep gashes in his back
in plain sight: a man
you can't call him anymore

The soldiers curse him and
the other two for the slaughter
They cast dice for his gold-

embroidered robe and his shirt
even though it is stiff clotted red
His cloak they tear into pieces

for the winners of fate
Quite soon, he suffocates
His father comes to get him