Mine is the card of misery
All of this was foretold
Before these depictions ever hung in Thoth's gallery
I have many names for many heroes
As I see pass another century,
this means nothing to me

I Caladcholg, Excalibur,
Socht's Sword Gorm Glas,
Beater and Biter
I Mournblade, Stormbringer, Cruadin
I am the sword with which Siegfried slew the dragon

Those strong enough to brandish me
will only know in their lives misery
I drink deep of souls while all those around them die,
This foretold before man could shape steel into a triumph of will
Or the pyramids caressed the sky

I Caladcholg, Excalibur,
Socht's Sword Gorm Glas,
Beater and Biter
I Mournblade, Stormbringer, Cruadin
I am the sword with which Siegfried slew the dragon

I may lie aeons in the bottom of a lake
or dwell in a netherworld cave in Ameeron

I Caladcholg, Excalibur,
I will dring your sould from the depleted chalice
that is nothing more than a shell
of a man where once stood a mythical champion

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