Revenge Archive - Thesilée

The Novelist’s Revenge Song

I am a novelist, the pen clenched in my fist
In this long November night
I’ve got a pot of tea, My cat is here with me
I guess we have some time to write

You may not remember me, I’m one you cannot see
And you’re a figment of my mind
But I remember you, and I will relate to you
How both our fates are still entwined
At the time you were the hero of my tale
Knowing all too well if you won’t cope, I’d fail (Oh, oh)

You had a charming air, the looks were also there
My beta reader thought you hot
And so I set up stage, filled you with lust and rage
And thought that you could drive my plot
As time wore on you proved a brick and a stubborn mule
Leaving my novel to look like the work of a fool (Oh, oh)

And then my plot was gone, I could not carry on
While you were roaming wild and free
I gave you one last chance: Abide my will and prance! –
And my poor muse gave up on me
That one day in spring, my dear muse left my side
But, before she did she took my hand as she madly cried: (Oh, oh)

»Fight him, write him
Make him spend his life between your pages for ages
Drag him through your book and when he rots there, plot’s there
Fifty thousand words and he is done!«

You left me in a shock. I suffered writers’ block
Days filled with self-hate and with booze
Did not care for hygiene. I burnt my Moleskine
For I had nothing left to lose
But, never once during the time of this endless night
Did I ever, once turn my mind from this book I’d write (Oh, oh)

One night I overheard some writers exchanging words
About an upcoming event.
The goal: To write a book. I swallowed bait and hook
It sounded like a month well-spent.
The following day I did sign up for an account
And in the whistle of the wind I could hear a sound (Oh, oh)

»Fight him, write him
Make him spend his life between your pages for ages
Drag him through your book and when he rots there, plot’s there
Fifty thousand words and he is done!«

»There is one thing I must say to you: During a Nanowrimo write
Always, your muses will watch over you, as you attempt to win this fight.«

And then, that fateful night I had you in my sight
I was prepared to write and win
My notepad at my hand, prepared for my last stand
When came this rumbling from within
The leaves did fall, the sky went black and the forum burst
And before us grew the angry jaws of November First …

Don’t know how I prevailed. I would have surely quailed
Somehow I managed to push through
But, oh, what providence, what divine intelligence
That I would end up here with you
It gives my heart great joy to see your eyes fill with fear
To lean in close and I will write down the last words you’ll hear (Oh, oh)

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Lyrics © 2024 by Thesilée
Tune: »The Mariner’s Revenge Song«, © Colin Meloy

Der flotte Metzger

Es war ein flotter Metzger, der viele Freunde hat,
er ritt an einem Tag hinaus, in eine andre Stadt.
Und als er aus dem Stadttor, ritt sprach er: »Jetzt oder nie!
Jetzt reite ich nach Urica und kaufe junges Vieh!«

Und als er kam nach Urica ging er in ein Lokal.
Er mietete ein Zimmer sich und speiste ganz feudal.
Er trank vom allerbesten Wein, und nach recht kurzer Zeit,
da fiel sein Auge auf die gut gebaute Kammermaid.

Die Maid nahm eine Kerze und sie leuchtet ihm zu Bett,
da schloß er schnell die Kammertür und sagte dann ganz nett:
»Sieh, dieses Goldstück hier ist dein, und du liegst mollig warm!«
Und so verbrachte sie die Nacht wohl in des Metzgers Arm.

Schon früh am Morgen machte er zum Aufbruch sich bereit.
Der Wirt sprach: »Werter Herr, zahlt erst die Rechnung, sonst gibt’s Streit.«
»Oh nein«, sagte der Metzger da, »das kann doch wohl nicht sein!
Ich gab der Magd ein Goldstück, doch sie hatte es nicht klein.«

Sie riefen nach der Kammermaid und fragten nach dem Geld.
Die Maid legt schnell das Goldstück hin und fühlte sich geprellt.
Es ritt der Metzger fröhlich fort und lobte sein Geschick,
doch ward die arme Kammermaid im Bauche ziemlich dick.

Es war zwölf Monde später, da kam der Tag nochmal:
Der Metzger ritt nach Urica und ging in das Lokal.
Beim Eintreten sah ihn die Maid, und dann lief sie schnell los.
Sie holt ein kleines Wickelkind und setzt’s ihm auf den Schoß.

Der Metzger starrte auf das Kind, wußt nicht, wie ihm geschah,
und als es ihm dann dämmerte macht ein ein groß Trara.
Sie sprach: »Mein Herr, dies ist von Euch, und wird auch Eures sein:
Ihr gabt mir einst ein Goldstück, und jetzt habe ich es klein.«

Hört zu, ihr flotten Männer, die Ihr seid auf dieser Welt:
Bedenkt die Schnäppchen erst genau bevor ihr zahlt mit Geld.
Ihr kauft zum halben Preis und denkt euch lacht das große Glück,
doch wenn ihr junge Mädchen prellt bekommt ihr was zurück.

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German lyrics © 1996 by Thesilée
Translation of the song »The Brisk Young Butcher« (trad.)

Cruel Sister 2.0

There was a company at Berkley Square.
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
Two lovely sisters laboured there.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

As one grew dark as it’s the night,
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
the younger bleached her hair all bright.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

As one worked hard to earn her bread,
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
the younger shared the owner’s bed.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

He told her she was his only love,
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
but made the other head of staff.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

The younger said: »That cannot be!
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
The chief clerk’s desk was meant for me!«
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

She told her sister: »O lucky you!
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
Your office has a lovely view.«
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

Then, with her sister by her side,
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
walked to the window opened wide.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

As they stood there, that blond-bleached lout,
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
she threw her elder sister out.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

She watched her sister float the air
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
And hit the ground at Berkley Square.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

»Your job and office will be mine!«
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
She got them both, which was all fine.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

Two kids did walk along the town
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
And saw the maiden falling down.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

Her corpse was stiffening, growing hard.
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
They robbed her of her credit card.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

The went into a Comtech™ store
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
And bought computer stuff and more.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

Then they wrote software which was great,
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
made all of Windows™’ glory fade.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

It was bought by the sister’s company
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
and got installed on her PC.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

But as she switched her computer on,
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
the printer printed all alone.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

First page in blue these words did show:
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
The chief clerk did her sister throw.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

The second page, in letters red
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
said: Soon the murderess will be dead.
– Fa la la la la la la la la la –

Third page said NOW!, all printed black.
– Lay the bent to the bonnie broom –
The murderess fell and broke her neck.
– Fa la la la la la la la la laaaaa –

An old story in a new light: Seriously, a harp made of hair and bones would be kind of gross, wouldn’t it?

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Lyrics © 1999 by Thesilée
Tune: »Cruel Sister« (trad.)

My Best Friend’s Blood

I could not kill you, brother, your blood I cannot shed
I’ll never rip your heart out and still I wish you dead
If we would ever meet again, I’d fight with gun, with knife
there’ll never be a chance again for me to take your life.

you once have been my brother, your blood runs in my vein
so if I bring myself to death, you are the one who’s slain
I’ll gladly slit my wrists for you, if only you will bleed
I would have loved to take your life, but nevermore we’ll meet

pray do you feel it thumping?
pray do you feel the pain?
your blood is running down my hands
your blood is red as rain

look here this edge is dripping, the floor is turning wet
the light is growing darker, I feel I’m turning dead
but it is not as if I die, that thing is up to you
for since you took my life away, it’s all that I can do

pray do you feel it thumping?
pray do you feel the pain?
your blood is running down my hands
your blood is red as rain

pray do you feel it thumping?
pray do you feel the pain?
your blood is running down my hands
your blood is red as rain …

Created for a role-playing character who was a pop singer –
this dark song was supposed to be his big comeback after a drug binge and suicide attempt.

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Das Blut der Rache

Wenn das Blut der Rache brennt
müssen wir marschieren.
Daß der Mensch die Feinde kennt
trennt ihn von den Tieren.
Niemals wollen wir verzeihn
Rache ist das Ziel allein,
heilig, heilig soll sie sein –
Froh laßt und marschieren.

Wenn das Blut der Rache glüht
ziehen wir zum Kriege.
Dem, der uns entgegenzieht,
hilft kein Glück zum Siege.
Ruhen wir nicht Tag, nicht Nacht,
bis die Rache ist vollbracht.
Darum, Feinde, gebt gut Acht,
wenn wir ziehn zum Kriege.

A song, written for my novel »Dämmervogel« (»Dawn Bird«),
Third book of the »Chroniken der Elomaran« (»Elomaran Chronicles«):
A bloody war song about pledging revenge and destroying ones foes

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Ragnarök (Loki’s Song)

The God of Fire I was called, but god I am no more:
I owe this fate to Balder, and to Odin, and to Thor.
In Asgard I would make my home, I dwelt among their mitts.
They envied me my beauty and my powers and my wits.
Of all the gods the folks did love, they loved me most of all,
So Odin and the likes of him made sure I had to fall.

And now I’m lying here. The poison burns my face.
I cannot die in here. Ropes tie me to this place.
But soon enough I will be free, for Ragnarök is yet to be…
and I will kill them.

Of all the gods I used to know, you were my closest friend.
To have some drinks and have some fun were things you’d understand.
As I enjoyed your tantrums, you dealt well with my mischief
And you were not among the men to name me liar, thief.
I dressed you up as Freya fair, to be a giant’s wife:
To me you owe your hammer, Thor – to me you’ll lose your life.

And now I’m lying here. The poison burns my face.
I cannot die in here. Ropes tie me to this place.
But soon enough I will be free, for Ragnarök is yet to be…
and I will kill you.

Angrboda, my beloved wife, of you I am so proud:
The Asen wives are fair and mild, but you are wild and loud.
Three children I have born from you, the three I love so well:
The Midgard Serpent Yormungander, the Fenris Wolf, and Hel.
Defeated now, but by my side in Ragnarök they’ll rise:
With Serpent, Wolf and Underworld, we’ll split the earth and skies.

And now I’m lying here. The poison burns my face.
I cannot die in here. Ropes tie me to this place.
But soon enough I will be free, for Ragnarök is yet to be…
and I will kill them.

O mighty Odin, Lord of gods, you were the wisest one.
And dared to claim you’d been my friend, had I not killed your son.
You’ve killed my wife and my sons two, now what am I to do?
To bow and smile and kiss your feet and beg and crawl to you?
We’ll meet again at Ragnarök, when all the gods will die.
You’ll pay the price for binding me – you’ll lose more than your eye …

And now I’m lying here. The poison burns my face.
I cannot die in here. Ropes tie me to this place.
But soon enough I will be free, for Ragnarök is yet to be…
and I will kill you.

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Mistress Alma’s Children

O Mistress Alma’s children, two girls aged two and three,
have closed their eyes forever, the sun no more to see,
have closed their eyes forever, the sun no more to see,

It was their wicked mother, them of their lives bereft:
She shed their blood, but shed no tear upon this wicked theft,
but burned them by the oven’s flames till nought of them was left.

She next began to weep and wail, and through the streets she’d run,
she cried: »O come and help me, please, my children, they are gone!«
She cried: »O come and help me, please, my children, they are gone!«

»There came three elves from outland, three elves came to my door.
They sang a song so sweet and cold, it chilled me to the core,
they’ve robbed me of my children, I’ll see my babes no more!«

The people in the village, they thought her story true,
for stealing fair young children is what all elves love to do.
For stealing fair young children is what all elves love to do.

And even Alma’s husband would still believe his wife
He thought not that the ashes cold once burned with children’s life,
and as all folks did pity her, the murderess could strife.

But early the next morning when at home alone she’d stay,
three elves did knock at Alma’s door and would not go away.
Three elves did knock at Alma’s door and would not go away.

The first said: »Mistress Alma, the folks believed when you
Said that we stole your children, but you know it is not true.
You know quite well that lying is a wicked thing to do.«

The next said: »Mistress Alma, you murdered them yourself,
and murder is an evil crime not like by men nor elf.
And murder is an evil crime not like by men nor elf.«

The third said: »Mistress Alma, now reach to us your hand.
We have no like for lies like that, I’m sure you’ll understand.«
They left, and Mistress Alma since was seen in no man’s land.

The German version of this song is »Die Kinder der Frau Alma«

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This song can be found on the album »Garden of the Lost«
Lyrics © 1999 and tune © 1993 by Thesilée

Lady Tree

Down in the ground beneath the roots of yonder tree
her bones lie buried deep, for no man’s eyes to see…
He would not love her half as much as he loved gold,
and she would never do whatever she was told:
He had to kill her, that’s one thing he won’t regret:
No one will find her in her earthen bed.

Tree, tree, Lady Tree,
– hide my secret where none may seek it –
Tree, tree, Lady Tree
– grow my shape for all to see!

The years went by, and yet the lady found no rest –
Killed by the man whom in her life she’d loved the best.
Her spirit touched the tree that grew upon her grave:
If not for justice, then for vengeance she did grave.
The years went by and by, and as the tree did grow,
the lady’s features it would start to show.

Tree, tree, Lady Tree,
– hide my secret where none may seek it –
Tree, tree, Lady Tree
– grow my shape for all to see!

And then his friends would come and talk about the tree:
»Is it not strange? The thing looks like a girl to me.«
»Her shapes and features just reming me of Madeleyne.«
»Ain’t it a pitty that she’s no where to be seen…«
He listened helplessly, afraid that they could know:
O that deceitful tree would have to go!

Tree, tree, Lady Tree,
– hide my secret where none may seek it –
Tree, tree, Lady Tree
– grow my shape for all to see!

He rose next day, that night had brought no sleep, no rest:
To knock that tree right down would simply be the best!
But when he reached the spot where once the grave had been
there was no trunk, no tree – sheer nothing to be seen.
He froze in horror, cruel fear took o’er his mind.
Than hands of leaves would reach out from behind…

Tree, tree, Lady Tree,
– hide my secret where none may seek it –
Tree, tree, Lady Tree
– grow my shape for all to see!
– grow my shape for all to see!
– grow my shape and set me free

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Jagdlied

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht
Mein ist die Stimme, hörst du mir auch zu?
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Dein war der Hund, der zuletzt hat gebellt
Dein war der Falke, der zur Erde nun fällt
Dein war das Pferd, das nun schwarz ist von Blut –
Sag, du magst Jagen? Das find ich gut.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Ich lasse dich rennen, bis Blut ist im Schuh
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Ich bin der Schatten vom Bär und vom Hirsch.
Ich bin der Wolf und der Fuchs auf der Pirsch.
Ich bin jedes große und kleine Getier.
Ich bin dein Jäger und gleich hinter dir.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Mein ist die Wildnis, das letzte Tabu.
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Dein Haus hast du aus meinen Knochen erbaut,
aus meinem Blut, meinem Horn, meiner Haut.
Die Jagd war dein Spielding, dein Opfer war ich,
So warst du mein Lehrer, denn jetzt jag ich dich.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Du wirst verlieren, ich weiß, was ich tu.
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Ich bin das Kindlein, ich wurde nicht alt:
Du hast mich verstoßen, so starb ich im Wald.
Und nun bist du hier, diese Wälder sind mein.
Bin zu jung für Rache – doch Jagen ist fein.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Hetz dich nur ab, ich lass dir keine Ruh
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Ich bin der Jäger … Ich bin der Jäger …

Dein Freund soll dir helfen? Dein Freund ist nicht hier.
Mein ist der Wald, jeder Baum, jedes Tier.
Lauf du nur, lauf, ich zeig dir, wie man rennt –
Dein sind die Knochen, die keiner mehr kennt.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Mein ist die Stimme, hörst du mir auch zu?
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

The English version of this song is »Hunting Song«

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Hunting Song

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Mine is the voice that is calling your name.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

Yours were the hounds that will bark nevermore.
Yours was the horse that’s now dripping with gore.
Yours was the goshawk that ne’ermore will fly.
Do you like hunting? Well, so do I.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
I’ll keep you running until you’ve grown lame.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

I am the shape of the bear and the stag.
I am the fox and the wolf at your back.
I am the wild boar and I am the roe.
I am your hunter wherever you go.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Mine is the wilderness you’ll never tame.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

Of my blood and my bones, your castle is built.
I’m every creature that ever you’ve killed.
Of hunting, you’ve taught me a lesson or two,
And well I did learn it, for now I hunt you.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Mine is the triumph and yours is the shame.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

I am the shape of the innocent child
That you’ve chased away so I died in the wild.
You’ve come to my forest, now give me a run.
I’m too young for vengeance, but hunting is fun.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Try to outrun me, it still is the same.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

I am the hunter … I am the hunter …

Your friends come to help you? Well I’m not your friend.
Mine is the forest that never will end.
Keep running, keep running, I’ll chase you around –
Yours are the bones that will never be found.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Mine is the voice that is calling your name.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

The German version of this song is »Jagdlied«

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