Arthur Pendragon

The sun bathed in crimson tide.
Pray to Ares, stay his pride.
The golden Lion, dead and slain.
The cry of suffering, the anger, the pain.
The tyrant gone,
The battle won.

Sword glinting, the setting sun.
The loss of a king, the death of a son.
Knights of silver dead and dying,
Warriors of black moaning and crying.
Innocence lost, grass washed in blood.
Men and boys bleeding in the mud.
The chilly frost,
The battle lost.

This ballad I sing
for a great king.
The people you unmadden
Arthur Pendragon.
The pain you carry, fpr you a great lot.
All for your dream, Camelot.
A great king dead.
A great sword wed.
           Arthur Pendragon