Gleaming shell of an autumn lie
fable of right divine
you gained your crowns by heritage
but blood was the price of mine

The throne that I won by blood and sweat
by Perun, I will not sell
for promise of valleys filled with gold
or threat of the halls of hell

When I was a fighting0man
the kettle-drums they beat
the people scattered gold dust
before my horse’s feet

The way of the king

But now I am a great king
the people hound my track
with poison in my wine-cup
and dagger at my back

The way of the king

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