The moon shines like a silver shard,
The biting air of night feels chill,
The wind is blowing ever hard
A silhouette against the hill.
The road ahead is lost in mist,
It’s winding down and out of sight.
Against his chest he pumps his fist
Departing lonely out of fight.
Whatever shadow chases after,
Whatever light might follow him,
There’s no excuse, no aim, no barter.
More to the eye than it may seem.
The night is fading, hour late,
The road still winding up and down,
Do not abide the twist of fate
To chase a king without a crown.