MacbethMacbethMacbeth

Raise your emptied glass to victories your wounds forget
Old kings soon shall pass robes worn down to barren threads

You look too young for a suit so aged

Any fool will soon be parted from his gold or from his flesh

You look too young for a suit so aged
Can't cut wood from trees so thin at the waist

By their thousands, all your heroes hell will call

You look too young for a suit so aged
Can't cut wood from trees so thin at the waist