From the treasure room of a rival lord,
Came to the young king a magnificent sword.
But embroidered there on the scabard fine,
Was written one dreadful blood-damned line.

Oh draw me not less I may sing...
And the sword sang blood and death and pain.

He drew it forth in his council hall,
So that his fine gift could be seen by all.
The blade shone bright as crossed the room,
And brought one counciler to his doom.

Oh draw me not less I may sing...
And the sword sang blood and death and pain.

The king grew pale when he saw that he'd slain,
And he swore that he'd not draw that weapon again.
But the shade in the sword spoke in words so fine,
And her voice in his ears was a dark sweet wine.

Oh draw me not less I may sing...
And the sword sang blood and death and pain.

I struck him down but to save your life,
He was the blade of your brother's knife.
Then my brother must die, the young king cried.
When she next came forth, that princeling died.

Oh draw me not less I may sing...
And the sword sang blood and death and pain.

His fortune was fine till in conquerer's pride,
He took to himself a young fair-haired bride.
But er he could take her on the marrage bed,
The sword was before him and the maiden lay dead.

Oh draw me not less I may sing...
And the sword sang blood and death and pain.

So long I have loved you and guarded your life,
Now you would take this creature for wife.
You have no other bride but me...
And your blood is the price of your treachery.

Oh draw me not less I may sing...