Long Road to Camelot
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things
There is no armour against fate
Death lays his icy hand on kings
Long road to Camelot
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust
Shame to him who finds evil here
Some men with swords may reap the field
And plant fresh laurels where they kill
But their strong nerves at last must yield
They tame but one another still
Long road to Camelot
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust
Shame to him who finds evil here
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down
Early or late
They stoop to fate
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb
Where Death lays his
Icy hand on kings
(Ice storm)
And in the dust be equal made
You must give up your murmuring breath
With the poor crookèd scythe and spade
When you, pale captives, creep to death
Ahahah...
The garlands wither on your brow
Then boast no more your mighty deeds
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds
Ahahah...
(Ice storm)
Long road to Camelot
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust
Shame to him who finds evil here