Ik had ooit eens een Engels lied geschreven voor een verhaal dat ik nooit heb geschreven 
Fire and smoke came from the sky,
our end was nigh;
trembling and fearing the winged beast,
our forces marched east.
No sword, spear or arrow could pierce its skin,
as it continued its greatest sin;
men and women died by its choice,
and finally from the west came a voice.
It was our bravest warrior,
he who bore the sword Ghalmior;
a worthy foe for the monster,
who had never been beaten by mortals.
The battle ensued,
the world plunged into darkness;
our warrior subdued,
for he was victorious.
Verblind door mijn eigen geluk zag ik haar verdriet niet...