Lord's Champion

In the ashen fields, cinders burning on tall grass,

My duel with Death has ended

What is left of my body rests upon a wizened maple

My breastplate has been torn open

My lance has been split in twain

My horse lies dead at the foot of my broken body

My flaming sword has been broken in two: the black knight holds the grip and hilt, the blade rests in my gut

My heaume is gone, crushed underfoot in the maelstrom

Death approaches, that cursed black knight holding my malformed helmet,

My corpse lays impotent before that devil

The light of my halo gleams off his bones

I see that death has come to claim my own,

But he stands at distance, as though petrified

The sun that rests behind my torn and bleeding head gives death and his minions pause

That fiery light prevents my ending, but continues my anguish

Death’s expressionless bones betray his fear of my light

A light which I wish to destroy so that Death may at once claim my soul

I have fought with all my might, only to fail

Yet Death’s satisfaction is not complete, for he demands submission

I must smother the Lord’s light if my pain is to end, if The Fiend is to win

As long as this halo burns, as long as the Lord wishes suffering upon his champion, as long as I remain alone, I will not submit