We invented the noose.

poetry new English style... sorta

Gentle heavens, don't keep me waiting...
Oh Lord, place him within the reach of my sword,
and if he escapes...  May heaven forgive him as well...
Best my fury sharpen thy sword,
convert woe to anger, and let your heart loose as rage...
 That bird from hell! True all my children and their mother dead!...
Slaughtered in one foul swoop?...
Now you sound like a man.
The army is ready, say goodbye to your king...
 A new day will come at last...
My iron gauntlets will crush its throat,
I will cleanse this burden; for i am your savior.
As these mountains part before us and our enemies flee from our blades we stand in our embrace, we stand in triumph.