The priests go down to the river to fish for Friday's meal The King is brooding day and night Black with hate, cursing fate To be ill when the foe is in sight. The priests they kneel in the chancel in solemn peaceful prayer The King is laughing, grim and slow Three brothers die, he hung them high On a gibbet they died a cruel show. Kyrie eleison The priests they crouch o'er their books and scratch away at history The King he rises from his bed Leads his men, rides again But before he sees the border he is dead. The priests they walk in procession with the coffin of state The King he leaves his work undone It is his fate, despite his hate That his foe lives on to fight his son. Kyrie eleison Christe eleison
The priests go down to the river to fish for Friday's meal The King is brooding day and night Black with hate, cursing fate To be ill when the foe is in sight. The priests they kneel in the chancel in solemn peaceful prayer The King is laughing, grim and slow Three brothers die, he hung them high On a gibbet they died a cruel show. Kyrie eleison The priests they crouch o'er their books and scratch away at history The King he rises from his bed Leads his men, rides again But before he sees the border he is dead. The priests they walk in procession with the coffin of state The King he leaves his work undone It is his fate, despite his hate That his foe lives on to fight his son. Kyrie eleison Christe eleison
