The man who chose

I saw a man the other day His armour polished bright as silver His hands steady upon the hilt Yet his eyes trembled before the blade Oh tell me this Is a man worthy of a title If he fears the very burden That gave him such a name For the people watched his sword But feared his pen instead Beknown to them The ink had always drawn more blood than steel Oh I have seen villages rebuilt By hands that once carried that blade And I have seen kingdoms fall By letters quietly signed beneath a candle So what is to become of such a knight One who knows not friend from foe One who mistakes duty for glory One who mistakes victory for justice Oh if his sword has wounded those he swore to guard Then take from him his banner Take from him his horse Take from him his name Off with his head OFF AND LET IT ROLL But let him live For there is no sharper cut Than a life stripped of honour No heavier chain Than a title no longer deserved Let no bard remember his victories! Let no child dream of becoming him! Write his story upon the finest parchment Then cast it to the flames! So that only the ashes may recite his name Oh for what is a knight Without something worth protecting A sword without purpose A shield without a kingdom A crown upon an empty throne No... A hollow shell Still standing in armour Long after the man inside Has already fallen.