The Lord of Camelot

Our suffering does not matter
To the Lord of Camelot

Too high above to hear the
Lamentations of our children.

What can tears buy
For so great a lord
Who walks in soft slippers?

The harvest of our sacrifice
Is not enough.

Good lord,
Do not trouble yourself
With the politics of state
Or the expenses of Camelot
For our sake.

The candles are burning bright
In the palace and
Your knights and ladies are waiting.

Out of their love
For what you have done
They will kiss your belly
With their scullery knives.

Bid the musicians play!
Let the merriments begin!