For the hand of my lady, what dragons I slew
To master eternity not a moment too soon
My blood-force a knight I take up this lot
Without wear, without spite hopelessly besot

What else have I but a fool in my hold
To the world a joke not my world not close
I live far off in a time far away
In the land of Provençal a knight shall I stay

No room is there in this day in this age
For a Lancelot or Arthur only a fool or a knave
Quixote and Panza but waiters at panto
Hamlet reborn, academia’s phantom

Reality laughs on deaf to the waves
Of great deeds seen done and damsels being saved
Cresting in magic, born deep a new myth
It waits for its breach at the end of our wit

In small hearts burn big suns where else can it begin
But in the silenced centre where all starts to spin
The spider of stories our destinies of silk
The golden treasure, the heroine’s milk

New wars now won new tales now begun
Where is the Homer to weave well what’s spun
By the new magic of life born from the void
New Gods are born from our nothingness supplied

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