O fair lady of Mazomer, how hast though changed me so?
From the cold, hard guise of a marauder, how has though made me a gentle doe?
For gone are the days, when I was steel.
Entering perilous frays, heart unmoved by the most eerie squeal.
Now a weak mortal I am,
In this bestial world a lamb.
And after all this dis-spiriting wrought,
Why do you leave me in this Hades to rot?