Old King's Cold/Grail King

Old King's Cold/Grail King

And the old King dies.

Sends out his mortal ghost

to dance on Olympian plains.

I am the mighty he;

ruled wisely while I was allowed;

sold my soul to please the crowd;

withered on the vine divine.

There is no more of me.

Drink from the golden Grail,

Oh New Found King.

You are triumphant.

A bright dawn upon the kingdom

offers sparkling hope,

new dreams aborning.

Don't despair old peasant folk,

though you think despair all you

can cling to.

The Fisher King has returned

from his desert adventures.

He brings the tides to

slake the thirst 

of this arid land.

I beg you yet again

to take a stand.

Take harness, plow your pastures.

Believe that the seed will take hold.

Listen to the heralds

shouting lines in the sand.

They know a flood is coming

after many a hard rain --

but don't despair!

It is a flood of fertility,

a harbinger promising carpets of grain

and lush vegetation.

All this is promised if you 

do your part.

The old King, so long dying of his

festering wounds, has poisoned you

with ill-fated rule.

Cast out the poison from your hearts.

Tend your fields with a will

and a song.

Never forget you are free.

Never forget that responsibility.