Merovingian

I bear the lance
That wounded the Christ
Meant to kill a God
Who had bore my sins
His was the finest vintage
His was the finest of wine
His blood is in my veins
For I am a Merovingian
And I am not a God
But I remain
Part of the Holy blood line
Every descendant
Is a holy chalice
We are the holders
Of the Grail
Through the blood of our body
No war is holy, no killing is good
But we defend
All that is righteous
By our blood
And what was earned
Upon the cross of wood