In shambles, my award announced trundles down the embankment. She is resplendent and her shadow shines. All the swords of Avalon, heeding the forthcoming call, make way for the Queen. The attire is simple and worn. I step in shoes of vengeance and assume the line that I ended. To take the hand of a maid, in lieu of violence, is appealing to my vainglory. Her knights quiver in the hand of my false stead. If comfort and volition stay fast, of my jealous riot I shall lead all the land to richness and sway only for the Gods above.