Ein Ritter

A knight generally asks
politely for a duel.
So does the black knight.
He may be just a little guy,
but when it comes to dueling,
he's better than many a knight.
He did it day in, day out.
Once he challenged
noble knight Lancelot,
because he saw his chance
to take out that hated, old
rival once and for all.

Said and done. So these two met
on a meadow.

To the left, Lancelot - noble, grand,
to the right, the Black - rather scrawny,
clumsy compared to Lancelot's shine.
This one carries his lance at the ready.
And it's truly no small one!
Though he has very short legs,
the lance is still longer than Lancelot's.

Let the duel begin
and may the better win!
King Arthur gives the signal:
Like a thunderstorm, the knight with the lance charges!
Lancelot wonders: "What the hell is this?"
The Black gallops closer... Just a few more meters!
but Lancelot stands there.
Instead of moving, he shouts to the Black:
"Hey man! Let's talk this out!"

He doesn't fight back, because from his view,
the Black Knight's not quite right in the head.
But on the contrary, he's getting closer!
Too late! Now he's here! He thrusts
with force, so that his lance
punches a hole in Lancelot's armor,
then goes on to pierce his belly.

Blood flows out like coffee
from the Melitta commercial...
Game and set: Black Knight!

You can see how the struck one stumbles,
holding his belly in pain.
For the rival's lance
is seen horizontally -
so to speak -
protruding from the knight's gut.

Doomed, he tips off his horse,
but he doesn't fall to the ground,
because the lance immediately
plunges straight into the earth,
so that he leaves this life
while sliding down it.

The lance now stood upright
from dead Lancelot,
and through Lancelot's blood
it was practically Lanzarote.

And the moral of the poem:
If a jerk is hell-bent
on stabbing you with a lance,
you better not think
he'd break one for you!