A whisper in the rushes disturbs the flies
That creep their way slowly to the bones of the body
Twisted and meaningless, a mass that still
Rots inside rusted plates of armor
Forgotten longsword in the long grass nearby
That only ever drank of the rain

Fresh mud once splashed a face young and proud
Hot blood once spilled in the weeds
Where once a Paladin fell, now a shroud
Of insects devours and feeds

The dragon still gyres over the town
While the worried pace thе floors of their hovels
Smoke in thе sky and a mountain of gold
Unclaimed in the dead heart
Of its bestial mountain

No one will save them
The dragon gyres lower
With fires flickering in basilisk eyes
And mortal terror burning slower

The Lady of Dreams shuttered up like a
Jewel of great price
In the tall tower with a madman reeling
Downstairs in his reverie
The demon in the triangle that told him...
The knife that will cut...
The cup that will drink...

No one will rescue her
No one will come
Her champion lies dead
Tangled in weeds
With grass growing over him
The eyes of the brave eaten by worms

Champion shifting from grave to grave
Lying dormant in gloomy bowers
Spirit is restless, no one to save
Centuries follow drunk on wickedness
A forest child found a helm sprouting flowers
And wore it in his innocence

Wildflowers growing through useless steel
The Hope of the World as tyranny glowers
A spirit discarded, a wasted ideal