'twas was a stormy night,
Every drunkard were filled with fight,
Peddlers sat and prayed for might,
And beggars hoped to escape their plight.
To every house and every field,
Of golden corn and hoes to wield,
Gone were they all before yield,
Left to die in the storm unshield.
The stone steps shone of lightning,
But trodden upon by hooves without engraving,
Without being seen the lone rider went galloping,
Riding towards the castle of torture and blundering.
Warm candles lit the throne room,
Rummaging around was the Fool with a broom,
Tending to the king's needs without a fume,
Without knowledge of their impending doom.
Glimmering chandeliers went out,
As the rider looked at His pout,
Drawing the sword with a shout,
"To Hell With You" the king stayed put.
With a slash the head rolled,
Gushing blood flowed,
Crimson red the floor stained,
Without a whim the king died.
Despite the silence,
He felt the rider's presence,
Arose to his feet with resonance,
To smite evil was his calling with menance.
Sound of sword scrapping scabbard,
Valiant and might he rose to the yard,
To slay the bastard whose name is without a card,
Oh a tale to be told for the wandering bard.
Raging still was the storm,
But in the distance dawn as taking form,
Awakening yawns of laymen from the dorm,
But happening was something out of norm.
They stood face to face,
Once with eager eyes to mace,
Another with shadows like haze,
Both locked in a combat phase.
Steel clanging steel,
The knight fought with feel,
But neither jab nor hack could make it kneel,
Bored and late it left to the hill.
Dawn broke with a golden gleam,
However cheery the day would seem,
The knight at the scene his eyes will beam,
Cut to this throat his sword be clean.
