The Tor is cold, neither tourist nor lunatics clod
can warm the sad sod
that covers the caverns of your rest.
The land sickens and is ashen,
and lost are the best
brave knights, all gone under foreign clays.
Our days are dark and
far too numerous.
The land is dying
your people lying in the utter apathy
that goes beyond despair,
still care.
Awaken their minds and hearts.
Come home, and make us part again of Albion
Oh, Once and Future King.
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