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When all the heroes turn to shit

And noble causes dry to dust,

There is no choice but to admit

That we should have obeyed our lust,

Alas, we didn't. At the time

We liked the pathways traveled less

And we believed the things that rhyme

Were better than nonrhyming mess.

We used to love our horses white,

We used to keep our armor clean

And we were certain we were right

To never let the darkness in.

We still believe. But we are few

And our swords are red with rust;

The day we leave this world to you

Remember: man was made from dust.