Here's when I almost became a folk rock star; a piece inspired by, well, failure (more specifically, my own). Not quite as bad as my epic in 9 parts, but that's not saying much, now is it?

---

It was a black day,
One cruel December morn
When the mighty king fell
As a new one was born.

All his life he'd struggled,
He'd risen to the top
Never once did he think
It would someday stop.

They came in the night,
They dressed themselves in white
And with swords of purest steel
They would be his last sight.

Not all had forsaken him,
There was a knight and wife
She was still glowing when
They stuck in her a knife.

The knight took his master,
And fled from the scene
All the while believing
He was in a dream.

The king had wronged no one,
His heart was pure as gold.
Yet all things' time must come
Or so we are told.

When they found them,
The knight clenched his sword
His palms sweating, he lunged
At the white horde.

His death was quick and easy,
They would recall and laugh
Trained all his life, but in the end
He was cut in half.

The king now left standing,
Not a friend was ledft
And so with a heavy heart
His end he did accept.

They laughed and wept soon after,
And the new king they did appoint
Heart of black and face of white
But in secret, he saw no point.

For in days yet to come
He too would see
A day when his time would come
At the hands of you and me.

---

Somehow, when I wrote this, I had this simple folky melody in my head, and so whenever I read it, it's like a song. What's odd then is how different the words appear to be when you don't have that melody in your head - things which may seem powerful and moving due to the way you sing them can seem quite flat when thought of as just words.

Actually, what the heck, I don't quite mind it, in fact you might say I like it. Sure, it is terrible, but why should that stop me?