Knights of the round, loyal to the crown, conquer the land. They start their plight at first light, with sword in hand. Warriors charging with trumpets blowing, defend the thrown. Bodies they hack with their battle axe, honor is sown. Cross-bow fires arrows against the morning sky. In a battle where heroes' are made and cowards die. Clashing spiked frail on armor and mail. Sparks fly, men die, wenches wail.