The Dark Ages

In the cold gray down, the first fires of the day are burning
A prince has been born, ox snorts keep the grind stone churning
A mazer of mead, so early on this eerie morning
The fresh dung steams, the son of a king is quickly sworn in

He will save the steward who takes a grote or shilling
He will save us from the clergy and the priest

The swordsman takes a bow, before he grabs the hilt and starts the killing
There's sludge on his brow, a bold steel cut where the guts are spilling

Eternal darkness you cannot see
His presence is felt in a deep dark dream
Eternal darkness how can this be
The dark ages onward to eternity

The crescent lamp is snuffed, a smoke plume rises from the oil
A dead hand is touch the boar meat smells of rancid spoil
A strange wind blows, a sack of half pence has gone missing
The reeve holds his throat, through his fingers the blood is spilling

What will save the steward who takes a grote or shilling
What will save us from the clergy and the king

The new king slides a note, under the door of the bishop's palace
A dagger in the cloak, as the courtiers engage in royal malice

Eternal darkness you cannot see
His presence is felt in a deep dark dream
Eternal darkness how can this be
The dark ages onward to eternity