Achilles and Briseis in a typical American styled blues ballad

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Oh, ye-all gods of love and war, hear out!
This ancient tale of worship leaves no doubt.
The blue eyed-golden haired, poor concubine.

Achilles by all means, the bravest Greek of all,
His shield and sword, not in a war, but to his lust befall.
The blue eyed-golden haired, poor concubine.

The conquers and the dead of the Trojan War were many,
But no such gift as the great loot of love as any.
The blue eyed-golden haired, poor concubine.

Sweet clatter of the horses; angelic clank of iron on the field,
The story of two hearts that promised us a yield.
The blue eyed-golden haired, poor concubine.

The rage of sun and light; the broken pledge and vow,
There is no king that can make a real hero bow.
The blue eyed-golden haired, poor concubine.

Refusal, oath, abstraction! That is a plot to follow.
His love returned; a royal promise can’t be hollow.
The blue eyed-golden haired, poor concubine.

All recommence will see an end. Regardless of the subject matter.
He dies. She stays a gift to any latter.
The blue eyed-golden haired, poor concubine.

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