I was taught to be a knight;
tattered favor streaming from my lance tip,
and agéd honor my saddlemate.
That this was the ultimate,
and through service and sacrifice,
Love would be bestowed.
But my sword rusts to its sheathe,
crusted in ancient blood.
The iron heavy and burden
encasing the dusty heart beneath.
Upon my weak-kneed steed,
As I quietly pine,
I begin to wonder
Will a damsel ever rescue me?