In a village green the bell tolls.
Many hear, but none heed its call
For all around dead men lay
In tall castles Lords and Knights scheme
In pursuit of their blood red dream
And who can know what they say?
Because in the morning bright and clear
Only the poor, dead men can hear.
And those men? They can't cry nay!
In a fold a cold shepherd lies.
His crime? Innocence. Yet, he dies.
His the price small men pay
When tall men want to play at war
It is the poor who find Deaths' door
Kings do not keep the dark at bay
When the Game of Thrones is played.