The Minotaur, he roamed the land,
And time again he saw his hand:
The empty fields and measured tracts,
The creeping maze of polished stone,
A beast with eyes as bright as stars,
And countless monsters bursting life.
He saw the cages rising high,
And Minotaurs that feasted well.
He overheard some words of death,
And tasted rancid, reeking air.
He saw the grabbing creatures fall,
He saw how he had turned them all.
And from the freedom of the moors,
At last he’d found his prison walls.