Idylls of the King - Lethean

Ice on summer seas a doubtful throne

Gone is the man who pulled sword from stone

Now I know not what I am — nothing but a voice

Calling through death-white mist

Crown wrought from the dying light of stars

Topples from my brow

Days of old and days to be fade from sight

Hollow are the helmets of the slain

Deep beneath the earth

Mighty bones of ancient men turn to dust

Rains fall on the ruins of a realm

Unrecalled in song

Waters fey reclaimed the sword of the king

Fled now is the music from the halls

Dry the drinking horn

Choirs robed in holy light sing for me

Now I know not what I am

Am I but king of the dead?

And I find nothing is left

Naught but this blade, dormant in grave-cold hands

Where are those I used to love?

Under the ground, swords rusted away

Will this slumber break, and will I rise?

Banish the frost that blinds weary eyes

Then the host shall ride again

Welcome as the Sun breaking on winter morn