The Sorcerer

Darkness like a cloak of saffron velvet surrounds him

Stark trees of stone support the moon and stop the sky from falling in around him.

He stands upon his mountain throne

His arms held high he's all-alone.

Ashen face turned towards the sky

His eyes reflect a tormented soul

Endless years have took their toll

His mind too troubled to let him die.

Lightning, swift and dazzling as it flashes silhouettes him

A gnarled old man of ageless time his bony fingers draw his cloak around him

He slowly bends his weary frame

Picks up his lamp adjusts it's flame

Secrets of the night to unfurl

He walks away with laden tread

Slowly turning his grey old head

Briefly looking back at the world.

Visions of the ages that have passed fly before him

Memories of kings and queens, long since dead their ghostly forms surround him

But soon these figures start to fade

They're only dreams an old man made

A wish that is borne of despair

There is no one left to take their place

No Arthur now to save our face

No leaders who seem as if they care

Oh where are we going to?

What is there left for me and you?