The broken psalms

With the engulfing solos of the maidens,
mingled like the prayes of the nobles,
with mad music of laughter, the burning rhythms o tear,
as they slides down the king's pride.
Solace to his grief,he stands to his knees,
to what shall he questions his lot?
As he pays the dinaries of mischief,
are not thy nobles fled hell's shelter?
Take thee cousel and make hay thy thoughts,
lest thou number thy days, at the call for sword.
Grope for thyself,the aparrels of war,
naked of all truth as thou embrace the morrow.
Billow thy tattered flag, to the echoes of defeat,
to thy last breathe thy sword lay naked.
Who shall watch thy gate at the death of he sun?
To whom shall thy slave fall to?
Lay await thou maidens,may he return?
Why pray yea amiss oh saints?
In time indefinite, shall yet he return?
Put on thy shackles let go thy hopes,
bid farewell thy home land,
kiss the feet of your maidens
as time embraces its end,dance yea to the rhythms of whips...gospel