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She, the dead queen and her enshadow'd king

And I, their jester, their Puck, am enslaved,

Helpless and damned, and so I must sing;

I sing of joy when all I feel is shame.



And if my voice should ever cease

My soul would meet a violent end

By the hand of an ancient and evil beast

And the will of my queen, who was once a friend.



To please her dead and rotted heart

I sing of what she once could feel

And her evil delight corrupts my art,

Creates a wound that will not heal



To please her lord, to save my life

I sing of him, his deeds and lands

My lord, the king, and she his wife

They hold my soul in lifeless hands.



I sing the legends of times past

Of courage and conquest, battle and war,

I list our great kings, the first to the last

And despair, for the line of kings is no more.



The monarchs are dead; yet remain enthroned

Immortal, and evil, yet somehow the same

Their flesh has giv'n way to shadow and bone

Yet their love for our legends and songs is unchanged.



And so I remain, the last of their court,

The rest have long since turned to dust in their graves

For we found long ago that which should not be sought;

Now the kingdom is damned and cannot be saved.



Our king, when he lived, was courageous and bold

He found a powerful weapon to vanquish our foes

He used it, but learned it would not be controlled,

For the legends had lied and the truth was unknown.



The spirit he found was not lost but enchained

Bound to its prison by heroes long dead

And the might of its wrath, no longer restrained,

Searched for it's captors, but found us instead.



It saw in the blood of my king and his heir

The spirit of the men who had fought him and won

It infested our kingdom with death and despair;

Kept our sovereigns alive but murdered their son.



My king in his grief tried to take his own life

And though his body did die, his soul lingered on;

The spirit had cursed both the king and his wife

To rule, even though their kingdom was gone.



And so they remained as centuries passed,

And our lands were claimed by neighbouring states,

And our countrymen died until I was the last,

And I came to accept my terrible fate.



Trapped in our ancient halls with my king

My soul was not captured, nor did my body die.

He veiled me from the demon, that I might sing

And ease the ever-growing weight of time.



But my song did not prevent the changes

That crept upon my liege's soul

Immortal, he was too soon insane

And thus the spirit achieved its goal.



She, the dead queen and her enshadow'd king

And I, their jester, along with them caged,

Trapped and tormented, and so I must sing,

For to them my voice, like my soul, is enslaved.