The Song of Mokai

He's dead, I watched him die.
He cast a spell on my mate,
They loved, and the moon whirled 'round the sky,
They mocked at my rage and hate.

Blood red from the burning sea
The sun rose, and I knew!
My soul whined wild little songs to me,
I did what I had to do.

I have taken the bone of his thigh,
I have fashioned it into a horn;
And I sing my soul's song, shrill and high,
And curse the day he was born.