The fisher king has been with me
To cut my down my soul tree
Chip chip chip, the axe doth go
clip clip clip, bits of self loses flow
The wound has cut me too deep
I lose my masculinity and begin to weep
For I am surely a hero for this tale
But I’m a sallow faced man, limp and pale
The knights of nights has been coming for a while
I can barely stand, can’t see myself, I never smile
Where once stood Hope is replaced doubt
I cannot escape, no belief in self to scream or shout
All because I need to be sour and dour
Never sated, constantly the ingrate, demanding more
A destiny I lost as cannot see my why
My purpose has been lost, I will surely die
As I crawl to my destiny, one word is left in me
Run to contentment will you can, just let yourself be
You’ll see that contentment is the Masterplan
The wound is nothing but the ego bent out of shape, bang bang bang
The soul chips will only burn if you can’t let yourself alone to be, to try
Your soul, your happiness is inside of your I
The fisher wound is neither here nor there.
A personal moment in time that you must bring to bare.
The knights of nights happens to us all.
Your strength comes from uncurling the mental ball.
The wound, the fall, Accept it is within us all
Lancelot and that bloke next door, all ofus will fall
It’s whether you can ride again, content to mend
A shinier you, with new armour, an invincible blend