Down the corridor, down the hall
and down the endless steps beside.
In old fort Alexandria, there lies
a sleeping library, and the knight.
He wears the plate his father wore,
he carries a dead lands flag. The rule
of gods and kings is over now, but
the knight will still march, but not
For his master long dead, no;
alone in a dead kingdom, a
dead land; he marches not for
the living, but to remember the dead.
A route around the castle takes
but an hour of his time. The rest
he spends in solitude the same,
but for his books, and scrolls divine.
Down the corridor, down the hall,
the knight will forever march.
Weep not for the endless knight,
he has a story yet to tell.