Rolling carts click against the cobble,
I see the entrance coming upon me
And with the arch stretching over my head
I enter the town.
Putrid smells attack my nostrils,
However the excitement pushes the discomfort away.
On my left is a florist, bursting with colours.
On my right is a mortician,, bursting with dead.
Behind me is my past, miles away,
In front of me is my future and it's unknown.
My calling is to be brave,
A knight of the round table.
Camelot is my home now,
With its bustling streets and beauty.