The king of sorrow, draped in red,
Danced to the rhythm of despair,
Leaving all behind him,
In the world he used to bare,

He felt a silence rise upon him,
Dancing to the rain,
Playing to the beat,
Of his everlasting pain,

He moved slowly to the ancient call,
Bowing to the sound,
Feeling inside him,
The bowels of the ground,

Not as though he wished to dance,
Almost as a spell,
That forced him to the bidding song,
As his body fell,

He felt the cold, hard, baron land,
Scrape against his feet,
And to the rhythm once more,
He was forced upon the beat

Slowly crying as he stood,
With blood to trickle down,
The man was lost within his mind,
To the ever ceasing sound