viii) The Glory Of Achilles

 The oath of the gods, this day was fulfilled
 In the heat of the battle, Hector was killed
 See him Patroclus, down in the dust
 Rejoice in his death my symbol of [bad word] 
 dozen highborn youths, have been killed
 Cutting their throats their blood was all spilled
 Their bodies set at the foot of your fire
 With oxen, sheep and two of your hounds

 Your funeral Pyre high off the ground
 Hector's body dragged three times around
 I will carry the torch to your funeral pyre
 I will ask of the wind to send high your fire

 Hector's blood will not be washed from my body
 Until your body is burned
 prophecy spoken a promise fulfilled
 More blood will be spilled, more will be killed.