Old friends of mine,
My comrades in arms -
It grieves my heart that thy
Once shining faces have turned grey...

There is no life in your eyes,
The darkness of despair
Clouds thy brows;

Why does your voice,
Once resounding like a clarion
On the bloody fields of Troy,
Now is husked to a whisper?

How long have you wandered
Through the desolate paths
That run beside the banks of Styx?
Can't you remember the children that miss you,
The Wife that still awaits your return?
Have you no kin that mourns for thee?

But I my friends,
Am most unhappy of you all -
Living in exile, my prison is made of waves;