Söndag 22 december

6. The king is dead

Running through the ages
Into a time which now is the past
Beheld to forces fighting (?)
This day would be his last

Through walls of fire walking
A king amongst his men
Through walls of fire walking
This journey had no end

The skies are ripped asunder
By the gunfire from below
A visit to the frontline
For the king a place to go

November night is calling
In the wind is word of death
A bullet out of nowhere
Silent was he dying red

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