Ramblings of a Soon Dead Bard III
. . . . . . A Song of Evil, A Song of Death . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . (For Nazmorghul) . . . . . . . . . . . .

And what of Death, a fact of life,
Or facet? For long is our living strife,
And ever do we feel the pain,
The loss of blood; do we gain
Strength, or lose it? Life ebbs out
Of us, no matter how loudly we shout.

Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've reached final death,
Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've breathed my last breath.

Call forth the evil ones, the legions
Of Drow and Fire Giants; in all regions
Let loose the hounds of hell,
All spirits dark and fell;
Shed the blood of countless innocents:
May their spirits begin their dark descents.

Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've reached final death,
Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've breathed my last breath.

Within Lord Nazmorghul are many souls
Who have never attained their lofty goals.
They scream in agony, cry in pain,
They who thought the Light would bring them gain.
I recognized the voices, the cries, of Tendarum and Krow:
Their choices in life brought them eternal woe.

Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've reached final death,
Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've breathed my last breath.

Prepare the sacrificial table:
Soon will follow Drakkar and Abel,
Carline, Jameson, and Reese...
They who follow the Light find no eternal peace.
They will sing their songs of ripped forth screams
As shadows fill their eternal dreams.

Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've reached final death,
Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've breathed my last breath.

Once promised by Zauephuaes, Lord of the Grave,
A bath of blood and death from which there is no save,
After my final death, as a sacrifice.
I hear it still shall be done, and no few will suffice.
The Dark Lords are hungry, they want to feast on souls,
Elf lady fingers and paladin head rolls.

Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've reached final death,
Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've breathed my last breath.

Force my empty shell to your will,
The blood of Knights and Light walkers spill
With zombies, golems and bears.
The fields and mountains erupt in tears,
Rent with fire and black smoke.
As the denizens of the underworld rise, you choke.

Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've reached final death,
Make a zombie of me, Necromancer,
When I've breathed my last breath.

My spirit will walk with the skeleton in the robe torn,
Whose insides contain all the spectral forlorn
Moaning of torment and pain, begging salvation,
Suffering eternal extermination.
The small hairy spiders will not make me cry.
I will sing sweetly for Nazmorghul, after I die.

-- Esarvee, the Undead Master Poet
Whose final death is Very Close at hand

[Historic Note: This song was actually commissioned by Nazmorghul, God of Pain and Death. He visited Esarvee shortly after she posted her song In Memoriam: Xaiphyronoth Windgust. He looked at her, she looked at him, there followed some morbid repartee where he informed her that her final death was 'very close' and 'very soon', and she quipped at him about his standing there and rubbing it in. In fact, it was not her time just then to die, and very rarely did someone who was not ghosting look upon Nazmorghul. So Esarvee was honored with the opportunity to see the God before her time had come, Nazmorghul considered it an honor that she would be his first dead bard beyond the Silent Gates, and he commissioned this song because she was the only bard who sang of evil and death. She posted the song quickly, checked for friends in Thera, and hurried away before her ghosting time came, so that she would not die alone.]

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