The courtiers of the King are satisfied now those
                                                      unbowed heads,
Amputated arms, hang from the battlements,
Now peace surrounds them.
Peace, perfect peace.

The cries of the people are lost among blaring trumpets,
Their patience spent, all will lost in false prayer's madness,
Hopes of reward lost with loss of faith
In the grace of this king and the courtiers . . . .
Peace, perfect peace.

The companions of the king are satisfied now those
                                                    unbowed heads,
Amputated arms, hang from the battlements,
Now peace surrounds them.
Peace, perfect peace.

Power's fort has a moat full of corpses.
Plunder from the land is shared by the victors,
Tongue and word now severed
Like the ropes of the pavilion.
Peace, perfect peace.

The courtiers of the king are satisfied now those
                                                     unbowed heads,
Amputated arms, hang from the battlements,
Now peace surrounds them.
Peace, perfect peace.