| Sixteen years
|
| Sixteen banners united over the field
|
| Where the good shepherd grieves
|
| Desperate men, desperate women divided
|
| Spreading their wings 'neath falling leaves
|
| Fortune calls
|
| I stepped forth from the shadows to the marketplace
|
| Merchants and thieves, hungry for power, my last deal gone down
|
| She’s smelling sweet like the meadows where she was born
|
| On midsummer’s eve near the tower
|
| The cold-blooded moon
|
| The captain waits above the celebration
|
| Sending his thoughts to a beloved maid
|
| Whose ebony face is beyond communication
|
| The captain is down but still believing that his love will be repaid
|
| They shaved her head
|
| She was torn between Jupiter and Apollo
|
| A messenger arrived with a black nightingale
|
| I seen her on the stairs and I couldn’t help but follow
|
| Follow her down past the fountain where they lifted her veil
|
| I stumbled to my feet
|
| I rode past destruction in the ditches
|
| With the stitches still mending beneath a heart-shaped tattoo
|
| Renegade priests and treacherous young witches
|
| Were handing out the flowers that I’d given to you
|
| The palace of mirrors
|
| Where dog soldiers are reflected
|
| The endless road and the wailing of chimes
|
| The empty rooms where her memory is protected
|
| Where the angel’s voices whisper to the souls of previous times
|
| She wakes him up
|
| Forty-eight hours later the sun is breaking
|
| Near broken chains, mountain laurel and rolling rocks
|
| She’s begging to know what measures he now will be taking
|
| He’s pulling her down and she’s clutching on to his long golden locks
|
| Gentlemen, he said I don’t need your organization, I’ve shined your shoes
|
| I’ve moved your mountains and marked your cards
|
| But Eden is burning either brace yourself for elimination
|
| Or else your hearts must have the courage for the changing of the guards
|
| Peace will come
|
| With tranquillity and splendor on the wheels of fire
|
| But will bring us no reward when her false idols fall
|
| And cruel death surrenders with its pale ghost retreating
|
| Between the King and the Queen of Swords |