Mine is the card of suffering
Mine is the card of misery
All of this was foretold
Before these depictions ever hung in Thoth's gallery
I have many names for many heroes
As I see pass another century, this means nothing to me

I Caladcholy, Excalibur, Socht's sword Glorm Glas, Beater and Biter
I Mournblade, Stormbringer, Cruadin
I am the sword with which Siegfried slew the dragon

Those strong enough to brandish me will only know in their lives misery
I drink deep of souls while all those around them die,
This foretold before man could shape steel into a triumph of will
Or the pyramids caressed the sky

I Caladcholy, Excalibur, Socht's sword, Glorm Glas, Beater and Biter
I Mournblade, Stormbringer, Cruadin
I am the sword with which Siegfried slew the dragon

I may lie Aeons in the bottom of a lake or dwell in a netherworld cave in Ameeron

I Caladcholy, Excalibur, I will drink your soul from the depleted chalice that is nothing more than the shell of a man where once stood a mythical champion