Oh where, oh where
Is the knight in shining armor?
Where is the hero
Raised up from a farmer?
When will the gods make their stand?
When will magic be restored to the land?
The dragon doesn't sit on his bed of gold
The skalds don't sing the tales of old
Across the land, the shadows sweep
The king, long perished, haunts his keep
When will the gods make their stand?
When will magic be restored to the land?
Far away the dragons have flown
The voices died off on the warm winds blown
To the magic I sing lament
Withered is my hope; withered is the woodland treant.
When will the gods make their stand?
When will magic be restored to the land?







