Swept on the shore by the light of the silver moon's glaive
Creeping of dawn through the street in the rags of a slave
Once I was lord of this kingdom from city to sea
Now twenty years past the townsfolk are laughing at me
Crouched in the hut of the swineherd
I don my disguise
Faced with the kindness and questions
I meet them with lies
Dirty and smoke-stained I'm all shriveled flesh, gnarled lim
Touched by the hand of the goddess my eyes become grim