We all share the great dream of a perfect king
Born with dragon's blood, filled with courage
To find a sword, to build an army, unify Albion
His knights were daring, ready to die, and flourished
Performing quests, achieving deeds never ending
To find the grail, to restore his soul
They never would relent, and knew the risk
None strayed or paled from the task
He was the spirit of the island, the champion
When he died, he was taken
From a world now forsaken
Now he waits upon Avalon to awaken
While his wounds mend
Deep in his sleep, dreaming of rebirth
“Yet some men say in many parts of England that King Arthur is not dead, but had by the will of our Lord Jesu into another place; and men say that he shall come again, and he shall win the holy cross.”
