The game was plaid
The egos glittered with the gold
And [even] the shiny pebbles skipped to the beat
But
The day was lost
The food poisoned
And the victory empty
For nothing could stand
On the arguments of a rebel
Whose cause was lost

The chants rang out
The deafening noise was heard
The masses marched on
Into the oblivion of their nightmares
Where swords are swallowed
Entrails pierced
The saint a sinner
And right turns wrong
And the death of the day, but a sad epilogue to their growing hypocrisy

The heartful glimmer of a child who could
A whistling song of youthful hope
The first ray of the dawning sun
Lay crestfallen 
In the ashes
Of the burned heretic
Who died of his own flame
Admist the laughing gaeity of his friends 
Who began another game

For the time was right
For the evil to fight
And the world to be betrayed
Through its highest hopes
Which it once had placed
Upon the tounge of a knight
Who often sang and was liked
For whom the bells now tolled
As he stepped out of the light
Drawing tears from the sighing spectator who gleamed
At the sought prize, now denied, once gained
Shedding a shoe, for his foot gone lame
[And]As the curtains fell and he died. [the curtains fell he was dead]

1:47am, 8.31.99, 4 fill