Troy

A murderer’s hands, touching,
Feather-light, another’s tattered flesh;
Love’s soft whispers
Drowning in the din of slaughter;
Bloodstained kisses bitten
From snarling lips;
Unwilling creatures in our beds,
Pain fuelling lust;
Blood of children on our hands,
Gold lining your purse.
Erastes, eromenos, philos,
What have we come to?
Butchers, puppets, toys
Of malevolent gods and malicious kings.
Erastes, eromenos, philos,
What have we become?