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A song inspired by the story of the most infamous love triange between King Arthur, Lady Quinevere, and The Good Sir Lancelot.

May the story go on and on, and may the world behold again,

Arthur, the Once and Future King!

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From the scars ov an aelder kynge, friend to

Arny Camelot,

Bled loove for a queene,

Whom bore a chylde ov fate between,

Between indecise and the void.



Grace and Honor, and the quest ov

Saan’Graal.

Loovely Lady ov Lionese,

Why must Arthur Cry forsooth of thee?



Frum the journie of many knight and peasent,

Began a sting most angry,

Unpleasent.

The sting of adulterous desiree,

In the hearte ov both Future Queene and Lordly Sire.

That was the beginning ov the ende,

Of Goode Sir Lancelot.

Grace and Honor, and the quest ov

Saan’Graal.

Loovely Lady ov Lionese,

Why must Arthur Cry forsooth of thee?



Many a tear was shed, by the Knight dressed in Rede.

As Gwenevere did tread, up the mantle of purple an golde,

To meet the Kynge instead.

Yet honor still hunge in him, The goode Sir Lancelot.

So He bid his tounge not speak.

And laid himself unto sleep.



Grace and Honor, and the quest ov

Saan’Graal.

Loovely Lady ov Lionese,

Why must Arthur Cry forsooth of thee?



As years went bye, the fyre grew,

Guenched bye the luste inside the twoe.

And a sin most unplanned, yet true.

Damned the Isle of Camelot.

They, the Queene, and the Knight unspoused,

Took leave to the river,

Where by there fervor there fate might be sealed.

And sealed it was, as the Kyngy of Kynges rode on,

for worrie of his love, lost out in the colde.

Little did all know, that in that day woth

writ the doome of Camelot.



Grace and Honore, and the quest ov

Saan’Graal.

Loovely Lady ov Lionese,

Why must Arthur Cry forsooth of thee?

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All things fade to black, even the beating of the heart in love.

Forgive me my ignorance, that some things last for ever.

Love is a pale thing.

It lights up the dark abyss momentarily,

Then in an instant, passes from our sight.

My heart beats, holding to the rythem of the angels lament.

Where am I to go now?

Who am I to be?

Those you love, cannot make you what you are, for you enter alone, and in

death alone ye shalt be again.

Schemhamphorasch,

I know thy name Ha'shem,

Even the meaings of names change...

One my name, like yours, was a representaion of love light and wisdom,

Yet now, in our darkest hours, it represents

the image of a lowly goatheaded whight.

Help me oh Schemhamforasch, to return from my place in Da'dael.

I long for the blackened planes of Istanbul....

Hold me tight!

The wind takes us there now!

All things fade to black, even the beating of the heart in love.

Forgive me my ignorance, that some things last for ever.

Love is a pale thing.

It lights up the dark abyss momentarily,

Then in an instant, passes from our sight.

My heart beats, holding to the rythem of the angels lament.

Where am I to go now?

Who am I to be?

Those you love, cannot make you what you are, for you enter alone, and in

death alone ye shalt be again.

Schemhamphorasch,

I know thy name Ha'shem,

Even the meaings of names change...

One my name, like yours, was a representaion of love light and wisdom,

Yet now, in our darkest hours, it represents

the image of a lowly goatheaded whight.

Help me oh Schemhamforasch, to return from my place in Da'dael.

I long for the blackened planes of Istanbul....

Hold me tight!

The wind takes us there now!

If I am Dead, give me to drink from the fount of shattered souls.

If I am Breathing, alow me one last inhalation of the toxic fumes of Al'Damon's Fire!

Burn my mind with turpentine, and set my heart aflame!

Absinthe dripping from my tounge,

Mescalito makes me Sane!

If I am Alive,

Make me forget my Sight.

All I am is IF I AM.

There is nothing but the Ride...

All I can utter now, in word or song or rhyme,

Is the motto of The Horsemem,

As he takes Harker for a ride;

"Denn die Todten reiten Schnell."



Amen.