I remember there was a young lady, 
Towering over in robes of white, 
Golden-brown hair and a ring full of emeralds, 
Bathed in her own sweet light.
And I remember that sixty God angels
Could not have taken my eyes away.
She was bathing my wounds with a hand soft as anything
While all around me my dead knights lay.
So I said, â??Please wonâ??t you ride my Silver Stallion home
â??Before the hours of morning come?
â??Iâ??d like to see him tethered, waiting for me, 
â??Before the dreamâ??s all goneâ?.
She told me to lay down and sleep for a little while
But down on the green grass my head she laid.
â??But what of my knights?â? I cried, â??Where are my enemysâ???â?
What had become of the bodies they slayed?
So I raise myself up to see more of the battlefield, 
And let out a cry in despair.
All of my good friends, the lords of my table, 
Lay dead or lay dying for having to follow:
For wanting to follow me there.