Roderick Of The Vale

Roderick of the Vale

Left to find his tale

And his tale, I will tell

How he lived and how he fell

Rode a mighty steed

Golden brown

Upon his head, he worn a crown

Went to say goodbye

To his one true love

But was waylaid in the wood

Where he was run through

And left for dead

And with his dying breath

He said aloud

To know one there, Sweet Eleanor

I wish I was at your door

And you would let me in

And we would sit beside the fire

In the warmth of the night

And then the Reaper came

He came to claim

His rightful prize

Then they did rise

Far above the pines

Then swooped into the valley

The valley of the dead

Where many things were seen and said

There were spirits there

Dancing 'round a funeral pyre

They said to him

Rod, your tale is told

Your body's lying cold

Your blood forms a river

That flows through the valley

And into a narrow pool

Deep and warm

In fact, it boils

And there you'll see

A tree that has no leaves

Into this tree, you'll climb

And from its great heights

You will see the other side

But don't fall

Rodrick of the Vale

He left to find his tale

And his tale I have penned

His eyes were eaten by a ren

The End