One year, whose name is lost to time, well, after all, the Earth

Has never written down a word recording any birth.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

I know what I have just concluded sounded off, as if

It’s not related to a Spanish boy, born near a cliff.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

In fact, it is related to our Spanish boy of yore

Whose name was Inigo Montoya, son of a sword maker poor.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Now, do not think that this boy’s father did not know his trade.

He could have been the richest craftsman ere to make a blade.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Inigo’s father, why, he chose to live the way he did.

He could make swords fit for a king, but kings and such resented. 

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

And for good reason too, as royalty do use their swords

For nothing; they just boast to other noblemen and lords.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

They order swords with diamond hilts that scratch the user’s hand

Because they never fight with them; ne’er go to unknown land.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

They don’t do anything themselves; not just when they’ve grown old.

They just demand the finest clothes and toilets made of gold.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Now we must return to Spain and check on our young child,

As our refrain has been for us an interruption wild.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

A Florinese nobleman once knocked on this man’s door.

He had six fingers on his hand, which other swords abhorred.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Well, this was just the type of challenge that this craftsman sought,

He loved this task so much; he sought to make a work of art.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

A year he worked to make this sword, and food he did not eat.

Only collapsing had him finally take a seat.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

And after he was done, a work of art, it was, this sword.

Made perfectly for the deformed, a travail worth reward.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

When the noble came to get his blade, he sought to break the deal.

He said he’d pay five hundred pieces, but he wanted it to steal.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

“It’s only worth ten pieces,” said the noble, on his horse.

“Ignorant were you of art; you only saw your purse.”

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

How could the noble not enact revenge on this poor swain?

An insult is the safest way to get a Count’s disdain.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

And when the noble killed his father, Inigo was ten.

Consumed with rage, he did decide he’d track him down right then.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Inigo spent all of ten years learning how to duel.

He hoped to find his enemy, a deformed noble cruel.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

He spent five years searching Europe for his bitter foe.

He found no nobles with six claws; he started to feel low.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

With his prodigious skill, Inigo would defeat adepts

And with his winnings pay for wine; it helped him when he slept.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

When Inigo was thirty, he became an alcoholic.

All he did was sit and drink some wine and gin and tonic.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

A criminal Sicilian found him in this awful left,

And took him off the bottle to participate in theft.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

With the Sicilian’s help, Inigo, money he did earn.

Through crimes and theft, extortion, frauds, society he burned.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Eventually, Inigo found the cruel, deformed lord.

He planned to kill his enemy with the six-fingered sword.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

There was a wedding taking place at Florin’s great chateau.

Between the rites and celebrations, Inigo did go.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Among the castle halls, the cruel Count Inigo found.

The Count’s four guards were dead before the first one hit the ground.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

After a long chase and fight, many wounds were wreaked,

Inigo, he disarmed the Count, who for his life beseeched.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

The Count did offer gold and power and everything he lacked,

Inigo refused all of this; the Count he slashed and hacked.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Inigo loved the pained expression on the dead Count’s face.

A bloody face, replete with fear Inigo’s pride refaced.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.

Imagine what Inigo could have done with his great skill.

He could have helped society, not seek a privy kill.

Those driven by revenge, for nothing else they ever stride.

They’re useless people, racing around to somehow repair their pride.