Oenone

Hear me, hear me, Oh one born of fire,
You who suckled on bear's bare breast,
Ordered to die by your father's ire,
Clinged to life, an indomitable pest.

A fair judge you call yourself, hah!
You who wronged me, and all for a whore,
The golden crown, you gave Ares, bah!
Was it not just a page of a coward's lore?

Yes, coward you are, your battles unfair,
Poor Achilles, forever known for his heel;
That you shot, catching him unaware,
Robbing him of title, the warrior of steel.

Now you are injured, your suffering is mirthful,
Did you come crawling, calling me more beautiful?
Than that whore who has had men plentiful?
So that I may heal you, an existence sorrowful?

No, you send that whore to beg for your life,
She has the nerve to call herself your wife,
The pain of your love never really gets old,
But revenge is a dish best served cold.