You point your sword at me?
Have I not raised the hairs on your head?
The timber on your roof is the sweat of my brow!
And you dare raise your sword at me?

I should have cut your finger,
When you first pointed at me!
I should have muzzled you then,
When you first gnarled!

I rode my horse day and night,
To ease your hunger pains;
Because you cried aloud,
I heard your cries and provided!

Now you’re tall like the cedar!
Your frame, bigger than my frame!
Your sword, sharper than my sword!
Your eyesight, keener than my eyesight!

Your horse I raised for you; I taught you how to saddle!
Your road I've paved; teaching you the ropes to the world.
And now you unsheathe your blade and point it in my face?
You were my shadow; my blood, my son!

But a Maiden smiled upon you.
And you lost your senses!
Her mouth spewed wickedness against me.
And you believed her words.

I should not have begotten you!
For now I must duel with you.
I must use my sword against your sword.
A tear in heaven shall be shed.

For your blood and my blood will spill.
And the heavens will open to receive us.
I will die in the hands of my blood,
And my blood will for ever stain your wisdom!