Deep in the hazardous forest of Nor
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A man rode in fury, his sheath without sword.
His weapon held high by his ravaging fist,
He fought many a night, yet never like this.
He screamed as he cut off the heads of the men
Who had taken his lover, his soul-mate, his friend.
At the gates of a castle he stopped and he yelled.
The fire in his eyes came from deep within Hell.
The gate crumbled down with two swipes of his hand.
The black horse he rode trampled many a man.
He charged through the blockades against the kings door.
The King sat in wait, it was not long before
Our hero kicked down the locked door with a thud.
His clothes; all in tatters and caked with red blood.
"Where is my lover, or must your blood spill?"
The King answered, "Westward, at Hanoverís Hill."
With a slip of the knife and the slump of the king,
Guards ran to the room to see whatís happening.
He swung to the window, his steed did he land.
It reared up and neighed and away the beast ran.
For Hanoverís Hillís a grim place with no hope,
Where people hang lifeless on long spans of rope.
He rode to the gallows, his love was still there.
The noose Ďround her neck and the wind in her hair.
"At last!" he exclaimed as he jumped to the ground.
But she spoke not a word, didnít utter a sound.
A single tear rolled down her rosy red cheek.
The manís footsteps faltered, for once he felt weak.
But the twang of a bow pierced the air like a knife,
And an arrow flew into the heart of his wife.
The forest behind then erupted in screaming.
He saw by the moonlight the whole wood was teaming!
The kings army charged to the fields with swords drawn.
The man grabbed his horse and he quickly jumped on.
"For love!" he cried, sobbing; blade raised to the sky.
For no reason to live leaves a reason to die.
So valiant and brave he flew into the battle.
He drove and he butchered the poor men like cattle.
He hunted them down until each one was dead,
And still to this day the fields blood is stained red.
He slew many men, ten thousand they say.
To pack back the life they had taken that day.
Then he picked up his wife and he carried her off
To a far away waterfall, soothing and soft.
He pushed her gold hair away, kissed her fair brow
And quietly whispered the words of a vow;
To love and protect her, Ďtil age and decay
Withered the rest of his lifeís days away.
So he built a small cottage right next to her stone
So he and lover would never be alone.
He lived there for ages, Ďtil death closed the door.
Thus ends the tale of the Slaying of Nor.