Bury my bones hacked

Kingdom Rush Fronteirs. Learn to fly 1. Learn to fly 2. Learn to Fly 3. Learn to Fly Idle. Loot the Game. Max Dirt Bike 2. Maze Escape. Meat Boy. Millionaire to Billionaire. Minecraft Tower Defence 2. Moby Dick 2.

Moto Trials Junkyard 2. Moto X3m 3. Multitask 2. Mutilate A Doll 2. N Game. Neon Rider. Neon Rider World. Nyan Cat. Obey the Game. Pandemic 2. Papa's Bakeria. Papa's Cupcakeria.

Papa's Freezeria. Papa's Pancakeria. Papa's Pizzeria. Papa's Sushiria. Plazma Burst 2. Pogo Swing. Portal 2d. Portal Flash. Potty Racers. Potty Racers 2. Potty Racers 3. Potty Racers 4. Raft Wars. Ragdoll Achievement 2. Rage 3. Ray Part 1. Ray Part 2. Ray Part 3 Intro.

Raze 3. Red Car. Robot Unicorn Attack Evolution. Rocking Sky Rolling Sky. Royal Warfare. Run 1. Run 2. Missing lyrics by Whiskey Myers? Know any other songs by Whiskey Myers? Don't keep it to yourself! Add it Here. Watch the song video Bury My Bones. Browse Lyrics. Our awesome collection of Promoted Songs ». Haciendo Money. Amalia Maldonado. And the greathearted Achilles, flensing fat from all, wrapped the corpse with folds of it, head to foot, then heaped the flayed carcasses round Patroclus.

He set two-handled jars of honey and oil beside him, leaned them against the bier—and then with wild zeal slung the bodies of four massive stallions onto the pyre and gave a wrenching groan. And the dead lord Patroclus had fed nine dogs at table—he slit the throats of two, threw them onto the pyre and then a dozen brave sons of the proud Trojans he hacked to pieces with his bronze. Achilles' mighty heart was erupting now with slaughter— he loosed the iron rage of fire to consume them all and cried out, calling his dear friend by name, "Farewell, Patroclus, even there in the House of Death!

All that I promised once I have performed at last. Here are twelve brave sons of the proud Trojans— all, the fire that feeds on you devours them all but not Hector the royal son of Priam, Hector I will never give to the hungry flames— wild dogs will bolt his flesh! Aphrodite daughter of Zeus beat off the packs, day and night, anointing Hector's body with oil, ambrosial oil of roses, so Achilles could not rip the prince's skin as he dragged him back and forth.

And round him Phoebus Apollo brought a dark cloud down from high sky to the plain to shroud the entire space where Hector's body lay, before the sun's white fury could sear away his flesh, his limbs and sinews. But the pyre of dead Patroclus was not burning-. Stepping back from the pyre he prayed to the two winds— Zephyr and Boreas, West and North—promised splendid victims and pouring generous, brimming cups from a golden goblet, begged them to come, so the wood might burst in flame and the dead bum down to ash with all good speed.

And Iris, hearing his prayers, rushed the message on to the winds that gathered now in stormy Zephyr's halls to share his brawling banquet. Iris swept to a stop and once they saw her poised at the stone threshold all sprang up, each urged her to sit beside him but she refused, pressing on with her message: "No time for sitting now. No, I must return to the Ocean's running stream, the Aethiopians' land. They are making a splendid sacrifice to the gods— I must not miss my share of the sacred feast.

But I bring Achilles' prayers! He begs you to come at once, Boreas, blustering Zephyr, he promises splendid victims-come with a strong blast and light the pyre where Patroclus lies in state and all the Argive armies mourn around him!

Message delivered, off she sped as the winds rose with a superhuman roar, stampeding clouds before them. Suddenly reaching the open sea in gale force, whipping whitecaps under a shrilling killer-squall.

All night long they hurled the flames-massed on the pyre, blast on screaming blast—and all night long the swift Achilles, lifting a two-handled cup, dipped wine from a golden bowl and poured it down on the ground and drenched the earth, calling out to the ghost of stricken, gaunt Patroclus. As a father weeps when he burns his son's bones, dead on his wedding day, and his death has plunged his parents in despair.. At that hour the morning star comes rising up to herald a new day on earth, and riding in its wake the Dawn flings out her golden robe across the sea, the funeral fires sank low, the flames died down.

And the winds swung round and headed home again, over the Thracian Sea, and the heaving swells moaned. And at last Achilles, turning away from the corpse-fire, sank down, exhausted. Sweet sleep overwhelmed him. But Agamemnon's followers grouped together now and as they approached Achilles, the din and trampling of their feet awoke him. He sat up with a start and made his wishes known: "Atrides—chiefs of Achaea's united forces— first put out the fires with glistening wine, wherever the flames still burn in all their fury.

Then let us collect the bones of Menoetius' son Patroclus, pick them out with care-but they cannot be mistaken: he lay amidst the pyre, apart from all the others burned at the edge, the ruck of men and horses. Then let us place his bones in a golden urn, sealed tight and dry with a double fold of fat, till I myself lie hid in the strong House, of Death. For his barrow, build him nothing large, I ask you, something right for the moment.

And then, later, Achaeans can work to make it broad and lofty, all who survive me here, alive in the benched ships when I am gone.

And the men obeyed the swift runner's orders. They first put out the fires with glistening wine, far as the flames had spread and the ashes bedded deep. In tears they gathered their gentle comrade's white bones, all in a golden urn, sealed with a double fold of fat, and stowed the urn in his shelter, covered well with a light linen shroud, then laid his barrow out. Around the pyre they planted a ring of stone revetments, piled the loose earth high in a mound above the ring and once they'd heaped the barrow turned to leave.

But Achilles held the armies on the spot. He had them sit in a great and growing circle— now for funeral games—and brought from his ships the trophies for the contests: cauldrons and tripods, stallions, mules and cattle with massive heads, women sashed and lovely, and gleaming gray iron.

First, for the fastest charioteers he set out glittering prizes: a woman to lead away, flawless, skilled in crafts, and a two-eared tripod, twenty-two measures deep— all that for the first prize. Then for the runner-up he brought forth a mare, unbroken, six years old, with a mule foal in her womb. For the third he produced a fine four-measure cauldron never scorched by flames, its sheen as bright as new. For the fourth he set out two gold bars, for the fifth, untouched by fire as well, a good two-handled jar.

And he rose up tall and challenged all the Argives: "Atrides—Achaeans-at-arms! Let the games beginl The trophies lie afield-they await the charioteers. If we held our games now in another hero's honor, surely I'd walk off to my tent with first prize. You know how my team outstrips all others' speed.

Immortal horses they are, Poseidon gave them himself to my father Peleus, Peleus passed them on to me. But I and our fast stallions will not race today, so strong his fame, the charioteer they've lost, so kind—always washing them down with fresh water, sleeking their long manes with smooth olive oil.

No wonder they stand here, mourning. They both refuse to move, saddled down with grief. But all the rest of you, come, all Achaeans in camp who trust to your teams and bolted chariots— take your places now!

The first by far, Eumelus lord of men sprang up, Admetus' prized son who excelled in horsemanship and following him Tydides, powerful Diomedes, yoking the breed of Tros he'd wrested from Aeneas just the other day when Apollo saved their master.

Then Atreus' son Menelaus, the red-haired captain born of the gods, leading under the yoke his racers, Blaze, Agamemnon's mare, and his own stallion Brightfoot. Anchises' son Echepolus gave Agamemnon Blaze, a gift that bought him off from the king's armies bound for windy Troy: he'd stay right where he was, a happy man, since Zeus had given him vast wealth and he lived in style on Sicyon's broad dancing rings. His was the mare Atrides harnessed, champing for the race. And the fourth to yoke his full-maned team was Antilochus, the splendid son of Nestor the old high-hearted king, lord Neleus' offspring.

A team of Pylian purebreds drew his chariot. His father stood at his side, lending sound advice to the boy's own good sense: "Young as you are, Antilochus, how the gods have loved you! Zeus and Poseidon taught you horsemanship, every sort, so there's no great need for me to set you straight. Well you know how to double round the post.

Yet even if other teams are faster, look at their drivers: there's not a trick in their whips that you don't have at hand. So plan your attack, my friend, muster all your skills or watch the prize slip by! It's skill, not brawn, that makes the finest woodsman. By skill, too, the captain holds his ship on course, scudding the wine-dark sea though rocked by gales. By skill alone, charioteer outraces charioteer. The average driver, leaving all to team and car, recklessly makes his turn, veering left and right, his pair swerving over the course-he can't control them.

But the cunning driver, even handling slower horses, always watches the post, turns it close, never loses the first chance to relax his reins and stretch his pair but he holds them tight till then, eyes on the leader. Now, the turn itself—it's clear, you cannot miss it. There's a dead tree-stump standing six feet high, it's oak or pine, not rotted through by the rains, and it's propped by two white stones on either side.

That's your halfway mark where the homestretch starts and there's plenty of good smooth racing-room around it— it's either the grave-mound of a man dead long ago or men who lived before us set it up as a goal. Now, in any event, swift Achilles makes it his turning-post. And you must hug it close as you haul your team and chariot round but you in your tight-strung car, you lean to the left yourself, just a bit as you whip your right-hand horse, hard, shout him on, slacken your grip and give him rein.

But make your left horse hug that post so close the hub of your well-turned wheel will almost seem to scrape the rock—just careful not to graze it! You'll maim your team, you'll smash your car to pieces.

A joy to your rivals, rank disgrace to yourself.. So keep your head, my boy, be on the lookout. Trail the field. Nestor sat down again. He'd shown his son the ropes, the last word in the master horseman's skills. Now after Meriones yoked his sleek horses fifth, they boarded their cars and dropped lots in a helmet. Achilles shook it hard—Antilochus' lot leapt out so he drew the inside track. Next in the draw came hardy lord Eumelus, Atrides Menelaus the famous spearman next and Meriones drew the fourth starting-lane and Tydides Diomedes drew the fifth and last, the best of them all by far at driving battle-teams.

All pulled up abreast as Achilles pointed out the post, far off on the level plain, and stationed there beside it an umpire, old lord Phoenix, his father's aide-in-arms, to mark the field at the turn and make a true report. Ready— whips raised high— at the signal all together lashed their horses' backs and shouted, urging them on— they broke in, a burst of speed, in no time swept the plain, leaving the ships behind and lifting under their chests the dust clung to the teams like clouds or swirling gales as their manes went streaming back in the gusty tearing wind.

The cars shot on, now jouncing along the earth that rears us all, now bounding clear in the air but the drivers kept erect in the lurching cars and the heart of each man raced, straining for victory—each man yelled at his pair as they flew across the plain in a whirl of dust.

But just out of the turn, starting the homestretch back to sunlit sea the horses lunged, each driver showed his form, the whole field went racing full tilt and at once the fast mares of Eumelus surged far out in front— And after him came Diomedes' team, Tros's stallions hardly a length behind now, closing at each stride and at any moment it seemed they'd mount Eumelus' car, their hot breath steaming his back and broad shoulders, their heads hovering over him, breakneck on they flew— and now he'd have passed him or forced a dead heat if Apollo all of a sudden raging at Diomedes had not knocked the shining whip from his fist.

Tears of rage came streaming down his cheeks as he watched Eumelus' mares pulling farther ahead and his team losing pace, no whip to lash them on. But Athena, missing nothing of Phoebus' foul play that robbed Diomedes, sped to the gallant captain, handed him back his whip, primed his team with power and flying after Admetus' son in full immortal fury the goddess smashed his yoke.

His mares bolted apart, careening off the track and his pole plowed the ground and Eumelus hurled from the chariot, tumbling over the wheel, the skin was ripped from his elbows, mouth and nostrils, his forehead battered in, scraped raw at the brows, tears filling his eyes, his booming voice choked— But veering round the wreck Diomedes steered his racers shooting far ahead of the rest, leaving them in the dust as Athena fired his team and gave the man his glory.

And after him came Atrides, red-haired Menelaus; next Antilochus, urging his father's horses: "Drive, the two of you—full stretch and fast! I don't tell you to match the leader's speed, skilled Diomedes' team—look, Athena herself just fired their pace and gave their master glory. But catch Menelaus' pair—fast—don't get left behind— or Blaze will shower the two of you with disgrace— Blaze is a mare!

Why falling back, my brave ones? I warn you both—so help me it's the truth— no more grooming for you at Nestor's hands! The old driver will slaughter you on the spot with a sharp bronze blade if you slack off now and we take a lesser prize. After them, faster— full gallop—I'll find the way, I've got the skill to slip past him there where the track narrows— I'll never miss my chance! There Atrides was heading-no room for two abreast— but Antilochus swerved to pass him, lashing his horses off the track then swerving into him neck-and-neck and Atrides, frightened, yelled out at the man, "Antilochus—you drive like a maniac!

Spin Spin Penguins. It's the Eurogamer News Cast! Top Rated Games. Pokemon Tower Defense. Plazma Burst 2. Swords and Sandals 2. Commando 2. Raze 2. Age of War 2. Pokemon Tower Defense 2.

Kingdom Rush.