Words cannot say, I will try anyway to tell you my tale so sorrowful
Of my brother so brave, now gone to the grave though his might and will were powerful.
Build the pyre, ready the fire. Brother is coming home today.
For the men he admired said words that inspired my brothers life to go astray.
Mother did plea on bended knee, "Son do not march off to war.
Their every breath will bring you death, and I will see you never more."
"Mother," he said, "I'd rather be dead than hide behind your cowardice.
You stand there and mock and hold no stock in my skill and sword prowess."
Build the pyre, ready the fire. Brother is coming home today.
For the men he admired said words that inspired my brothers life to go astray.
He said his goodbyes despite all our cries, though our grief had just begun.
Brother marched out with no fear or doubt. The path of war was the only one.
"Mother dear, I sadly fear we'll not see him e'er again.
He chose a life of war and strife and took a sword for his wife."
Build the pyre, ready the fire. Brother is coming home today.
For the men he admired said words that inspired my brothers life to go astray.
The tales revealed his sword and shield were able to triumph in the fray.
Upon the field he never did yield to any attack that came his way.
He traveled great lengths and climbed the ranks until he commanded scores of men.
But hatred arised, sly and green-eyed in the form of a man my brother called friend.
We've built the pyre, ignited the fire. Brother's body has been burned.
Through his last written word, on wings of a bird, my brother's murderer I have learned.
Through flame and smoke, my mother's heart broke. Now I am lost and all alone.
So I'll channel my hate to retaliate and kill that traitor with skills I will hone.
Light the fire, let it burn higher! Upon it I shall forge a sword.
An eye for an eye, that traitor must die! Then I shall have the final word.