Behold! The sight of filth,
The sins of the world have gathered here,
Dead and rotten all day long,
Whose it is, I don't care.

Look at that!
A babe so little,
What work does it have here?
“Filth,” a passerby said,
“Why would flowers bloom here?”

“Filth it is,” a woman said,
“Born of Akardos, the dock-side whore,
Punished by Gods and born as a curse,
Look, he is rotten to the core.”

“The babe is cursed,” a wise man said,
“Warm him not, my dear,
He will cut your flesh,
And drink your blood,
Then do every deed you fear.”