The Skeleton King, the Bone Lord
Still with signet ring and ancient sword
Marches o’er mountain and stream
His only thought an ancient, rotten, cursed dream
To burn all realms of man to ash and dust
This ancient horror born anew, fueled by ancient lust
He marches before his shambling undead horde
This army follows he who bears that ancient sword
Ancient armor still does shine, upon his ancient chest
His risen army marches now and they shall never rest
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem