I lift and rock gives way,
Steel sings against stone,
Curses broken and mended,
The final words of a father
I lift and they watch from below,
Captivated by the legend,
Eyes disbelieving,
Even as the blade seems made for my hand
I wanted to say I didn’t know,
What it meant when I stepped to the stone,
That they were mere myths,
That there was no curse binding blade to earth
I knew it anyway,
Heard it in the stories of my youth,
That the dead king cast his sword away, Buried it deep in a boulder,
A prize for the most worthy,
For the one who shared his blood
Take me up, the blade sings,
Take me up and find your home,
Take me up and know your name,
Take me up and seek, wanderer,
Seek all you wish to know
Writing snakes along the flat of the blade, So old I can’t read it,
But I know what it means all the same:
Take me up, just as the blade whispers,
And on the other side
Cast me away
Cast me away and follow your heart,
Cast me away and forget all sorrows,
Cast me away and be free
I do not listen,
I do not weep,
I do not look down
There are shouts around me,
Whispers, too,
They can only look at me and stare,
I, the one who pulled sword from stone, Blade from earth,
And prophecy from ruin
Hail, they cry,
Hail to the king that was promised!
Hail to the king that shalt be!
Hail, hail, hail!