I remember there was a young lady,
Towering over in robes of white,
Golden-brown hair and a ring full of emeralds,
Bathed in her own sweet light.
And I remember that sixty God angels
Could not have taken my eyes away.
She was bathing my wounds with a hand soft as anything
While all around me my dead knights lay.
So I said, Please wont you ride my Silver Stallion home
Before the hours of morning come?
Id like to see him tethered, waiting for me,
Before the dreams all gone.
She told me to lay down and sleep for a little while
But down on the green grass my head she laid.
But what of my knights? I cried, Where are my enemys?
What had become of the bodies they slayed?
So I raise myself up to see more of the battlefield,
And let out a cry in despair.
All of my good friends, the lords of my table,
Lay dead or lay dying for having to follow:
For wanting to follow me there.