Swords in the morg next to the warrior kings who flung themselves against the tide.
Dont hide those tears my dear, they'll hear you and feal you. Ripe while in flight from a fight horses march gallop in haze.
Sand endless seas bees sting like troops lose life while in flight what strife it was that ripped the kingdom from it's ripeness.
Kings sing of past deeds heirs and their artistec flairs won't protect the kingdom from fall.
Morn the forlone words of kings in the dust as they fell dusk.