What Dreams Avail the Dead

I hope the words we sang tonight while drifting down the riverside are heard again some other time, that other voices sing again the rhymes we threaded between the stars. A dying man, I find myself longing to pass it down—no kith nor kin have I but you, my mortal enemy. So, when you sing to your children of your great conquests and victories, remember this monster well. Point to your scars, and recall my name. I have done all that I can, and now I go to sleep. What dreams avail the dead, I am to learn anon.