A knight brave and loyal returns from foreign debates his sword broken, his armor kinked on a steed with little heart to bear his master through the gates
What was the battle for? Was the war truly won? Many enemies this great sir has made As many friends lie dead in the dirt Who will not see another sun
The land is barren that he calls his home His lady distant and cold She wants not his arms nor his lips anymore, nor his returning face to behold
The fire stays not lit in the hearth The kindling, though dry Will not burn, the chilly wind whips through shutters that will not shut And he asks himself for what reason does he bleed? Why do I bleed, oh why?