Oracle

Through the mist of time, when legend became myth

On the sacred mountain, the oracle awaits

Since the age of heroes prophecies to spread

Kings to save their kingdoms

Heroes to fulfill their fate

Among the shadows, the priestess breathing python's breath

Speaks the mystic oath behind the pure white veils

Spoken riddles, words without sense

Suddenly become a searching quest

Spartan messengers the oracle approach

Through misthroughted plains

They invoke their gods

Their advice to take through divinations words

How to rule their fate by the will of gods

Pythia (Apollo's seer):

- O ye men who dwell in the streets

of broad Lacedaemon!

Either your glorious town shall be sacked

by the children of Perseus

Or in exchange, must all through

the whole Laconian country

Mourn for the loss of a king

descendant of great Heracles,

He cannot be withstood by

the courage of bulls nor of lions

Strive as they may, he is mighty as Jove;

there is naught that shall stay him

Till he have got for his prey your king

or your glorious city..."

This is the riddle given to Spartan messengers

Sorrow fills their heart for what they fate demands

That the King must be sacrificed and so salvation comes

Their eyes full of despair for what dark omen given

Such a heavy price on altar's victory