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The Sorcerer (Pagan Altar)

Darkness like a cloak of saffron velvet surrounds him Stark trees of stone support the moon and stop the sky from falling in around him. He stands upon his mountain throne His arms held high he's all-alone. Ashen face turned towards the sky His eyes reflect a tormented soul Endless years have took their toll His mind too troubled to let him die. Lightning, swift and dazzling as it flashes silhouettes him A gnarled old man of ageless time his bony fingers draw his cloak around him He slowly bends his weary frame Picks up his lamp adjusts it's flame Secrets of the night to unfurl He walks away with laden tread Slowly turning his grey old head Briefly looking back at the world. Visions of the ages that have passed fly before him Memories of kings and queens, long since dead their ghostly forms surround him But soon these figures start to fade They're only dreams an old man made A wish that is borne of despair There is no one left to take their place No Arthur now to save our face No leaders who seem as if they care Oh where are we going to? What is there left for me and you?