Once a knight in bright armor,
Once gleaming his blade.
Now fallen from grandeur,
Asleep in the shade
Of a Joshua tree,
Old beyond count of years,
In a land by the sea:
Land of mists, drowned in tears.

Untouched by chill autumnal breeze,
He lies beneath the rusted leaves.
In a wood of flames, a sea of trees,
He rests beneath the forest eaves.

And wild roses ‘round him grow,
Twisted vines that overflow
Their long forgotten bed
And slowly wind
A crown of thorns
About his sleeping head.

Above, the pale October sky,
Where clouds flow as the daylight fades,
Striated palaces on high,
Sweet Babylon of storm clouds made.