This is the tale,
Of the fall of Eryndale,
And a queen who found herself without a throne.
Her cries and pleas,
Were all to no avail,
For the time had come to reap what she had sown.
The time for talk was over
Alas that ship had sailed,
And so begins the saga of the fall of Eryndale.
The Queen had knaves,
Who lavished her with praise,
Then stole from her and laughed behind her back.
The Queen refused,
To peer beyond her daze,
Or come down from the clouds and face the facts.
So instead of stone and mortar,
The knaves used mud and shale,
And that was how they built the fragile walls of Eryndale.
She had a surf,
Who worked and tilled the earth,
And only sought to make the lady smile.
But when he saw,
That her smiles were full of mirth,
He knew that she'd been laughing all the while.
So the surf became a rouge and put on his battle mail,
And laughter of his own rang down the halls of Eryndale.
The wise men say,
There'll come a judgement day,
When every knee will bend before the throne.
And every debt,
And injustice will be paid,
And everything that's wrong will be atoned.
And the world will see a kingdom where justice will prevail,
And I don't know where that kingdom's going to be,
But I guarantee it won't be Eryndale.
The hour is late . . .
There are dragons at the gate . . .
And there thy lie in wait . . .
For me . . .
To ring the dinner bell . . .
[This is a metaphorical poem about someone whos property I used to work on.
The "dragons" are the local building inspectors who I was intending to call for various reasons.
I finally decided not to, partly out of laziness, partly out of sympathy for her son, who I figured already had enough to deal with].
Of the fall of Eryndale,
And a queen who found herself without a throne.
Her cries and pleas,
Were all to no avail,
For the time had come to reap what she had sown.
The time for talk was over
Alas that ship had sailed,
And so begins the saga of the fall of Eryndale.
The Queen had knaves,
Who lavished her with praise,
Then stole from her and laughed behind her back.
The Queen refused,
To peer beyond her daze,
Or come down from the clouds and face the facts.
So instead of stone and mortar,
The knaves used mud and shale,
And that was how they built the fragile walls of Eryndale.
She had a surf,
Who worked and tilled the earth,
And only sought to make the lady smile.
But when he saw,
That her smiles were full of mirth,
He knew that she'd been laughing all the while.
So the surf became a rouge and put on his battle mail,
And laughter of his own rang down the halls of Eryndale.
The wise men say,
There'll come a judgement day,
When every knee will bend before the throne.
And every debt,
And injustice will be paid,
And everything that's wrong will be atoned.
And the world will see a kingdom where justice will prevail,
And I don't know where that kingdom's going to be,
But I guarantee it won't be Eryndale.
The hour is late . . .
There are dragons at the gate . . .
And there thy lie in wait . . .
For me . . .
To ring the dinner bell . . .
[This is a metaphorical poem about someone whos property I used to work on.
The "dragons" are the local building inspectors who I was intending to call for various reasons.
I finally decided not to, partly out of laziness, partly out of sympathy for her son, who I figured already had enough to deal with].
