- Lothithil

The King is dead... long live the King!
From lips and broken hearts it rings...
But this fragile cage of flesh and black cloth
Mourned long ago the man we have this day lost

From the day I saw him as a child
Summers sweet and and winters mild
In the bosum of my Father's land
I watched the child grow to the man

Though it was then that my love was born
At that same time I began to mourn
For I knew that he was Mortal flesh
And that of a choice I was bereft

The White City is bright today
The sun salutes this solemn day
Shroud me in black silk tho I yet live
This widow has more than tears to give