Salma whispers out of fright,
"Who keeps coming in the night?
Who is it that brings the fight?"
(Fury, Fury, Fury's might!)

Salma whimpers, Salma cries,
"Please defend us, noble knights!
Please defend us, ugly blights!"
(Not for twenty sovereigns' price.)

Salma withers, hear it sigh:
"Why must we so often die?
Come, my artists, tell me why!"
(They know only paint and dye.)

Salma quivers at our sight:
"The savages' smiles are oh so bright!
How can they think this right?
(Fury, Fury, Fury's light.)

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 4th of Omeian, in the year 6 AC.