The Game

Within the noble chambers of the mighty warlord
A life is ended by the sharp edge of his own sword
The price of a game he could not afford
His most loyal servant from before
Broke free from all the oaths he swore
To put his liege in chains and more
To rid him of his guilt and the love he bore
He sent for the riders clad in crimson red
To see his bastard brother dead
To steal the heart of a women already wed
To lure his brother’s wife into his bed
And collect the innocent tears she shed
Not an evil man, just tragically mislead
By the smoothest whisperer in the realms
Whose words simply overwhelms
The purest of hearts, the cleanest of souls
And she will stop at nothing to seize control
Over the feeble minds of those whose purpose sole
Is to raise the ongoing war’s death toll.

@Alexander Berg Mattsson, 2012

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