Blood to blood, lord to lord,
steal to steal, sword to sword.
Two grim men stand in a field,
mighty swords today they wield.
In old ruins with scattered trash,
sparks go flying as metals clash.
One slashes at the ribs going in for the attack,
the other blocks the strikes trying to get him back.
Blade, in a arch, at the head, full swing,
side step, in the branches, placing their bets, the vultures sing.
Aiming at the heart, dodge to the right,
a deadly dagger comes into sight.
Vultures screech as they hear the sound,
with all his dreams crumbled he falls to the ground.
Spillane blood, fallen lord,
cursed steal, forgotten sword.
one man walks from a field,
bloody sword next day he’ll wield.