|
A horseman rides slowly through the mirror's sight |
|
He's singing a hymn for the victory of another fight |
|
Lancelot, his semblance radiates a mystic might |
|
Hair from underneath his helmet, and the red helmet feather |
|
Wave in the wind like a licking flame together |
|
This brave armoured knight; raised by the lady to a goal |
|
Because the flames of lust carbonise her soul |
|
Infinite sadness or smothered grief |
|
So alone, but these emotions won't leave |
|
Your state, going from bad to worse |
|
Now as lust evokes the curse |
|
You left the web for pictures that the mirror sent |
|
And forgot the loom |
|
While you stepped towards the casement, |
|
embraced by the arms of doom |
|
Your lust brought you to the end |
|
Fairy lady of Shallot |
|
Now as you're looking down at Camelot |
|
She's engulfed by the dismal night |
|
When the wind extinguishes the candlelight |
|
She's searing for this heroic knight |
|
Wrapped in the web in which memories hide |
|
Then the mirror cracked from side to side |
|
The curse came upon her and she cried: |
|
"Death chooses me to be its bride..." |