His spirit was emptied, his heart broken, his prayers unspoken
Born King of a land, but his realm was dying, the people crying
Nightmares dreamed into being, a land terrified, and hope crucified
The remaining knights gathered round the table called to quest
Should they find the grail he'd live, without it he would fail the test
Arthur, born of Pendragon's blood, the purest good, role understood
He was Heaven's choice, giving purest voice, offering an answer
To the unholy armies, led by Mordred, the enemy's commander
Once and for all there'd be a final result
Should Mordred be victorious, hope be damned
Should Arthur fall, the purest insult
To the chosen king of the chosen land
