My king, my king, how was I supposed to know that
everyone will falter when you die

And as we speak the army of our enemies
is approaching our gates, we cannot fly

Behold, my son
There's a way to save you all
Don't you despair, don't be petrified

There is an armor
ancient magic made it strong
And you shall wear it when you face the fight

This harness will guide us through dangerous night
It humbles the foe with its grace

The thornmail will help us prevail and survive
Our deadliest fate we embrace

Well done, my son, it's the way to save you all
but don't you think the realm's been purified

Creatures of darkness are still longing for your fall
Keep them in thrall, it's time to smite and ignite

My king, my king, how was I supposed to know that
everyone will falter when you die

Son, smite them all!